


Stolen Dance

by hiddeninyourblood



Series: Stolen Dance [1]
Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: F/M, Original Plot, Reader-Insert, Reader-Interactive, hi i'm in love with (1) man, original murder plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-13
Updated: 2019-11-29
Packaged: 2020-10-17 12:16:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 69,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20620889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hiddeninyourblood/pseuds/hiddeninyourblood
Summary: “Maybe this was a pipe dream, a delusion you’d soon awake from or a phase you’d outgrow. You didn’t really care. For a brief moment in time, you were in love. That’s what you chose to care about. That what you made matter.”The one where you’re a paramedic, he’s an FBI agent, and the time you spend together is borrowed.TellonymKo-Fi





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I shouldn't write crime fiction.

“This girl is no different from the rest: her throat was slashed, and she was found naked. I’m sure once we get her to the pathologist, they’ll find signs of sexual assault.” 

“Was the clothing found?” 

The investigator nodded. “Folded and placed on the ground close to the body, just like the last two.” 

You sat on the edge of the ambulance, listening to their conversation. 

Amiee Rogers was the fourth girl to show up dead in the last 15 months, and the third to follow a distinct pattern. She was almost identical to other victims, physically and otherwise — young, average height, dark hair and eyes, and athletic. This sicko had a type, that much was obvious. 

You still weren’t used to looking at the bodies, which ultimately, was a good thing; f your stomach didn’t turn and throat close at the sight of those poor girls dumped in a river, maybe it was time to quit your job as a paramedic and move to the mountains. That day had yet to come, though, so instead of becoming a hermit, you waited patiently and avoided looking at Aimee’s lifeless body. 

“It’s just horrible, isn’t it?” Michael Alphon, your work partner asked. “The way they’re just tossed aside like trash.” 

A gust of wind swept through the air. You pulled your jacket tight around you, crossing your arms over your chest. 

“It is,” you agreed. 

“Alphon, Y/L/N!” The sheriff shouted, catching yours and Michael’s attention. He gestured to the crime scene. “We’re ready for you.”

“I’m tired of pulling bodies out of the Colorado,” Michael muttered.

“Me too,” you said, “but something tells me this won’t be the last time we have to.”

  
_____________________

After a long night on 3rd shift, you were exhausted. While the left side of your lane was full of people trying to get to work, your lane was basically empty besides your beat up Jeep. Your dog tags swayed back and forth as they hung on the rearview mirror.

You served in the Army for five years, so you should probably be more used to death. Granted, as both a medic and a paramedic, you were always composed and calm while doing your job. But in some ways, the recent murders stuck with you more than serving in war did. 

Your work in the Army gave you PTSD, and the killings weren’t doing anything to help it. All the victims were young, less than 25 years old. They were so full of potential, and it was all stolen by a sick man with an unknown vendetta. At least when you were in warzone, you managed to disconnect and hone in on your skills. Now that you were back in Grand Junction, Colorado — the city you were born and raised in — it was almost impossible to zone out your surroundings. You knew these people: the families, the victims. You weren’t just pulling bullets out of men in camouflage anymore. This was real.

Everytime you closed your eyes, all you saw was Aimee Rogers, Felicity Garb, and Stella Lee. You saw their glazed over, lifeless eyes. You saw their blue skin and purple lips caused by the cold water. You saw their clothes sitting on the riverside, neatly folded in a pile. And sometimes, right before falling asleep, you thought you heard their screams.

  
_____________________

You tossed your bag in your locker with a sigh. Once again, you decided to pick up a night shift, and you hardly got any sleep beforehand. You knew the only reason the night crew wanted to trade shifts was because they didn’t want to find another body, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. You couldn’t sleep these days anyways, and working graveyards made you a few more bucks an hour, so really, what did it matter?

“Y/N Y/L/N?” A handsome black man asked. He wore dark clothing, but he didn’t give you an EMT/paramedic vibe.

“That’s me,” you confirmed, closing your locker. “What can I help you with?”

“We heard you were one of the paramedics on-scene the night Aimee Rogers’ body was found,” a younger, taller man asked. 

You didn’t notice him at first, but once you did, it was hard to look away. He had shaggy hair, big eyes, and a sharp jawline. He had to be at least six feet tall, but something about his voice and even his presence was… comforting. You couldn’t really explain it. 

“I was,” you said cautiously. “Who are you, exactly?”

The first man was quick to respond; he pulled out a badge and showed it to you. “We’re FBI agents, ma’am.” 

You heard through the grapevine that the FBI was in town. Though it made perfect logical sense, it didn’t seem real to you. Everyone always said it, but it was true: things like this don’t happen here. Grand Junction wasn’t even 1/6th of Denver’s population, yet somehow, there was a serial killer running around? It felt more like a novel or movie than real life.

“I guess it was only a matter of time before you guys showed up,” you ceded. 

“I’m Agent Derek Morgan, and this is Dr. Spencer Reid,” Derek continued. “We were hoping we could speak to you?”

“Dr. Reid?” you asked in disbelief. You took a seat on the bench behind you. “You used the logarithmic spiral and a Fibonacci sequence to find out where Henry Grace was holding his hostages.”

Derek looked at Spencer in a way only the two of them understood. 

“H-How did you know that?” Spencer asked.

“I read,” you said simply. “I learned about the BAU when I was in Basic Training. I’ve always had an interest in the study of human behavior. My mother said I had a knack for it, that I was good at spotting liars.”

“You served?” Derek asked with raised eyebrows. He took a seat next to you.

“For half a decade,” you said. “After my first year, I trained to be a medic, a few years after that, I got deployed for 18 months.” 

Derek nodded in approval. “Show us.”

You laughed in surprise. “Show you?”

“Prove your mother right. Profile us.”

You looked between the two men. Derek looked insistent; Spencer, on the other hand, seemed completely indifferent. 

“The two of you have been working together for awhile; years, probably,” you started. “When I mentioned Dr. Reid’s work, you looked at him,” you said, speaking to Derek. “The two of you are professional, so you didn’t say anything. However, Agent Morgan, you raised your eyebrows and held back a smile. This leads me to believe the relationship has become interpersonal.”

“It doesn’t take a profiler to notice changes in body language and facial expressions,” Spencer said plainly. “Really, those are things your subconscious picks up on. You simply analyzed our interaction and took an educated guess.”

“I’m not finished,” you said with a half smile.  
Spencer merely looked at you.

You took a breath. It felt like you would be intruding, saying too much about something you knew nothing about. Your father was a good and kind man, but on more than one occasion did he lecture you for your lack of filter. Since then, you learned observe people in silence. 

“Had the two of you not been here on work, Derek would have made a comment,” you spoke. You turned your attention to the agent next to you. “You assumed I took a liking to Dr. Reid, most likely in a romantic or even sexual way. However, you also would have found a way to demean Dr. Reid.”

“Demean him?” Derek inquired. He managed to keep his expression blank, but he subconsciously sat up straighter — a defensive position. 

“You respect Dr. Reid,” you observed. “In some ways, you probably see him as a brother. But in other ways, you see him as competition. You grew up as an alpha male, a protector. You became a profiler by going through the classes and training. Dr. Reid on the other hand, he just showed up one day out of the blue.”

Spencer crossed his arms. “What are you trying to say, Y/N?”

You hesitated. “I’m saying that, while Agent Morgan respects you, there’s a small part of him that thinks you’re only good at profiling because you taught yourself how to be good at it.”

“Of course he taught himself. That’s how people learn,” Derek argued.

“Spencer doesn’t learn, though,” you said softly. “He reads, and he remembers. He profiles using patterns and statistics, while you profile by getting inside a person’s head. Neither method is wrong, of course, but sometimes, a part of you thinks that your way shows more talent. That’s why you wanted to make a remark: mostly because you wanted to lightheartedly tease, but also because you wanted to show your dominance. You wanted to prove that, sometimes, you can be smarter than the genius you work with.” 

Once again, the two of them shared a look. Eventually, though, Derek began to chuckle.

“She’s good,” Spencer noticed.

“Very good,” Derek agreed. 

After a moment of silence, Spencer spoke up. “Sheriff Longman said you began to pick up on the Unsub’s habits.”

You bit your lip. “I have a few theories, but I’m no expert.”

“What’re you thinking, Y/N?” Derek persuaded.

“Bea Vallette was the first,” you said. “They thought it was an accident or suicide — he hadn’t developed his signature by then.”

“What’s his signature?” Spencer asked.

“Rogers, Garb, and Lee were all found with the same injuries; their throats were slit, they were discovered naked, face-down, and they all had signs of sexual assault. But unlike Vallette, these girls had something in common: the clothes they went missing in were found washed and folded next to their bodies.”

“Most likely, that’s a sign of -” Spencer began. Derek cut him off. 

“What could the clothing be a sign of?” Derek asked you.

“It could be remorse. He rapes and kills them, but he feels sorry for them, so he washes the blood out of their clothes and leaves them behind.”

“If he’d go through the trouble of washing the clothes, why not put them back on the victim?” Spencer thought aloud. 

“Putting them back on is a higher risk of leaving DNA behind,” you pointed out.

“Maybe he’s trying to make a statement,” Derek suggested. “Maybe it’s his way of showing power over his victims, even after killing them.”

“Well, as much as I’d love to sit here and theorize with you gentlemen,” you said, standing up, “I have a job to do.”

“Absolutely,” Derek said in understanding. He reached into his pocket. “If you think of anything, give us a call.”

You smiled, pocketing the card. “Will do.”

You couldn’t help but steal one last look at Spencer before he and Derek left.

You ended your shift by putting another girl in the back of the ambulance.

This time, the BAU team was there to respond. Spencer was the first to approach you.

“Same signature, same MO,” you said without looking up.

“The length between this kill and his last is significantly shorter than the gap between Rogers and Garb,” Spencer continued. “After killing Lee, it took him 4 months to kill Garb. The gap between Vallette and Lee is even longer - 6 months. Why would kill twice in the span of 2 weeks?”

“Something triggered him,” you said. “That, or he’s devolving, becoming more desperate.” You then chuckled nervously to yourself. “Sorry, I’m supposed to be doing my job, not yours.”

“No, it’s fine, I…” Spencer paused, then looked to you. “I want to hear what you have to say.”

You made an involuntary face. “Why?” You asked. 

“Locals are essential to every investigation we conduct, just like we - the profilers - are.” Spencer explained. “I’ve never worked a case where someone was both.” 

“I’m one of a kind,” you joked.

“You are,” Spencer agreed. His expression was serious. It made your heart skip a beat. 

“Look, Dr. Reid, I -”

“It’s Spencer,” he interrupted, then cleared his throat. “I’m sorry, I, um… you can call me Spencer.” 

“Spencer,” you corrected yourself, “I’d like to help. Really, I would. But I haven’t been back in town for that long, and I’m not really friends with anyone. I don’t think I have the insight you’re looking for.” 

“You’re more important than you think.” 

You were almost grateful the two of you were interrupted; you didn’t trust whatever answer you may have come up with.

“This has to be our guy,” a dark haired woman appeared beside Spencer. “The only difference between this victim and the others is the position of the body.”

“The other girls were found face-down, but this time, he left her face-up,” Spencer noted aloud.

“He’s angrier,” you said. “Leaving the girls face-down with their waists in the water gave them some sort of dignity. This time, he left her completely exposed.”

“...I’m sorry, who are you?” The woman asked.

“This is Y/N,” Spencer introduced. “She’s helped recover every victim so far. Also, she has a knack for profiling. Y/N, meet SSA Emily Prentiss.”

“You’re the girl that called Morgan an alpha male,” Emily responded, a grin on her face.

“Only because I said she could,” a voice from behind you spoke. You turned around to see the one and only Derek Morgan.

“Hey, Derek,” you said, almost bashfully. His closed mouth smile told you he had no hard feelings, which you were grateful for. 

You caught Spencer adjusting his posture in your peripheral vision.

  
_____________________

Three days passed. After your 4th 12 hour shift in a row, most of them being at night, the department decided it was time for you to have a break. If it were up to you, you’d live in an ambulance. Unfortunately, though, that choice wasn’t yours to make.

Instead of savoring your time off, you took up a different job: trying to discover the unsub. You eventually came to the conclusion that Spencer may be right, that you might know something they didn’t. You tried your hardest to take advantage of that opportunity. 

You visited your mom, who now lived 45 minutes away from Grand Junction. She only moved recently, so for the most part, she kept in contact with her friends that still lived in the city. The BAU released the assumed age of the Unsub — 30 - 45 years old — and your mother fell in that same demographic. The profile also said he knew the area well; he lived in the area for at least a decade. There was a chance he went to school with your mother.

“That prom was one of my proudest accomplishments,” your mom grinned as she reminisced. “I was so happy with how it turned out.”

“It looks great, mom,” you praised. Her Senior prom’s theme was ‘Under the Sea’, sort of like the dance in Back to The Future. By modern standards, it was tacky, but everyone in the photo looked over the moon happy. You weren’t about to dock that. 

You turned the page to reveal a big, black and white photo full of teenage football players. A few were smiling, most of them had a blank expression. A boy in the second row with shaggy brown hair looked familiar. You pointed to him.

“Do I know him?” You asked.

“Caleb Chasing?” Your mom said. “Maybe. Him and his wife never moved; they raised their kids in Grand Junction. Poor guy, his wife took the kids when they got divorced.” 

“That sucks,” you said, running your fingers over the picture absentmindedly. “Who did he marry?” 

“Stephanie Young,” your mom answered. “He was the quarterback, she was the star of the swim team. They were high school sweethearts, the perfect couple. It’s a shame they didn’t last.” 

“Swim team?” you murmured to yourself.

“Turn a few pages, you’ll find a picture of her,” she insisted.

4 pages later, you found the swim team of that year. You read the text on the side, found Stephanie’s location in the photo, and spotted her. Your heart dropped into your stomach.

Aimee Rogers. Felicity Garb. Stella Lee. 

They all looked exactly like Stephanie Young did as a teenager: same dark hair, big eyes, athletic build. 

You felt sick to your stomach.

“I need to speak to Dr. Reid,” you told the Sheriff.

You stood in the middle of the bustling police station. A few officers gave you looks as they walked by, but none of them dared to say something. 

“The FBI Agent?” He asked in disbelief.

“No, the medical doctor,” you sassed. “Yes, the agent. Look, he gave me a number to call if I needed anything. I can call him, if you want, but it would save all of us some time if you just let me talk to him.”

“Remember who you’re talking to, miss,” the sheriff warned. “I take no orders from you.”

“I’m talking to the man who watched me pull three bodies out of the Colorado River.” 

He averted his gaze.

“I’m sorry if you felt disrespected, but nothing I said was out of malice. I care about these girls just as much as you do. I don’t want to boss you around - I want to help.” 

“Y/N?”

You turned your head to see Spencer standing behind the Sheriff.

“What are you doing here?” He asked.

“I think I found the unsub.”

The room fell silent when you walked in.

“Everyone, this is Y/N,” Spencer introduced. He turned to you. “That’s Agent Hotchner, Agent Rossi, and Jennifer Jureau.”

“You’re missing two, Spence,” JJ pointed out.

“I already met Agents Prentiss and Morgan,” you assured.

“Y/N’s a paramedic,” Emily explained. “She recovered Mandy Koplin’s body.” 

“And Lee, and Garb, and Rogers,” you added. You took in a breath. “I have a theory.”

“We appreciate your efforts, but -” Hotchner started. Surprisingly, Spencer cut him off.

“We talked it over, and I think she might be right,” Spencer said. “Hear her out. Please.”

You opened your file and pulled out the first photo, holding it up.

“Meet Caleb Chasing,” you said. “He was the quarterback of the Lakeland Warriors for 3 years, until he graduated high school in 1999.” You threw down the picture of Chasing and picked another one up. “One year later, his high school sweetheart, Stephanie Young, graduated. A year after that, they got married.”

“All of the victims look like Stephanie,” JJ said in disbelief. “It’s uncanny.” 

“Were you able to find a stressor?” Derek asked.

You set your papers down on the table in front of you, rifling through them. You must have looked crazy, but you couldn’t feel more composed. They were actually listening to you.

“Caleb and Stephanie had two children together over the 7 years of their marriage. The got divorced last year, and Stephanie won sole custody of both kids.” 

“Garcia,” Hotch spoke to the phone sitting in the middle of the table. “Are you double-checking this?”

“Oh, you know I am,” a woman through the line assured. “Our new friend Y/N hit bullseye — In August 2007, Caleb Chasing filed for divorce, and by November of that year, a judge granted Stephanie parental rights.”

“We’ve got a stressor and an MO,” Emily said, “but that doesn’t explain why he leaves the bodies by the river.” 

You smirked to yourself, ready with a response. You showed them the photo from your mother’s yearbook. “Stephanie was on the swim team in high school. He could be using the water as a symbol, a power move.” 

“If Chasing wants to get back at his wife, why not go for older victims?” Derek proposed.

“If Caleb feels resentment only towards Stephanie, it’s possible he targets younger victims in order to protect his children,” Spencer answered. “He loves his children, but he blames Stephanie for their failed marriage. To cope with the conflict, he kills women resembling Stephanie when they first fell in love.”

“That way, he purges Stephanie from his life without involving their children,” Rossi said.

The agents shared looks with one another. All you could hear was the sound of your heart beating in your chest.

“So?” you asked, sounding breathless. “What do you think?”

“I think it’s time we give Caleb Chasing a visit,” Hotch said.

Caleb was complacent in coming to the police station in order to be interviewed. You thought he would lawyer up right off the bat, but he simply sat there, staring at his hands. 

Derek and Rossi entered the interrogation room, and the man sat straight up. His face was expressionless, but his eyes had a fire burning behind them.

“You met your ex-wife in high school,” Derek stated. He tossed a photo of Stephanie onto the table in front of Caleb.

Caleb frowned in confusion. “What does Steph have to do with any of this?” 

“She’s pretty. Brown eyes, dark hair, athletic build… every man’s dream,” Rossi said, looking at a photograph of his own. “Kind of like these girls, don’t you think?” 

David showed Caleb ‘normal’ photos of each victim; they were dressed nice, smiling into a camera lense. They couldn’t look more pure in white.

“These are those missing girls,” Caleb stated. “Why are you showing me this?”

“The missing girls who turned up dead,” Derek corrected.

Finally, it began to click for Caleb. “You think I did this?!”

You sighed in resignation as you watched behind the two-way mirror.

“This isn’t him,” you said. “He didn’t do it.” 

“What makes you so sure?” Spencer asked from beside you. His arms were folded over his chest as he observed the conversation.

“Well, for one, he let us search the house without a warrant,” you said. “Plus, he didn’t react when Derek brought up Stephanie. If he was killing those women out of anger towards Stephanie, his rage would be consuming, so consuming that it’s impossible to control. Mentioning her name should be enough to set him off, right?”

“In many cases, yes,” Spencer said. “He could be manipulating the situation, though. If he is trying to protect his children, like we theorized, he may have found a way to keep his emotions under control.”

“Yeah, maybe,” you said. “Or maybe he’s just a normal guy who cares about his kids and doesn’t hate his ex-wife.”

Spencer’s phone rang in his pocket. He answered without hesitation. 

“Hello?” He asked. His facial expression quickly changed. “Wait, Emily, slow down. What happened?”

Your heart rate began to pick up.

“Are you sure?” he asked, then sighed. “Alright, just hang tight. I’ll talk to Morgan and Rossi.”

Spencer hung up and dialed a different number.

“What’s going on?” You asked.

Spencer ignored you, the phone pressed to his ear. You heard a ringing noise come from the interrogation room.

“What’s up?” Derek asked.

“Stephanie is missing,” Spencer responded.

Despite the mirror, Derek managed to look directly at him. “You’re sure?”

“Hotch, Emily, and the Sheriff went to her house in Loma. There’s no trace of her or the kids.” 

“Why would the unsub change MOs?” you asked frantically. “He’s never shown an interest in kids. Why now?” 

“He snapped, went after what he’s wanted this entire time,” Spencer said. “The kids probably got caught in the crossfire.” 

Derek hung up the phone and leaned over the table. “Stephanie and your kids are missing,” he said bluntly. “If you had something to do with it, you’re gonna tell us where they are. If you didn’t, you’re going to tell us who could have.”

Caleb ran his hands over his head. “Oh my god,” he breathed out. “D-did someone take them?” 

“It appears that way, yes.”

“I always tell her to lock the door,” Caleb murmured. “She never does. Even when we were married, she forgot.”

“Caleb,” Derek said, this time, more gently. “Can you think of anyone that would want to hurt Stephanie?”

He shook his head violently. “She’s perfect… she loves everyone she meets. God, why would someone do this?”

Suddenly, it clicked in your brain.

You grabbed the yearbook and rushed out of the room, despite Spencer’s protests. You barged into the interrogation room, and it was clear that David and Derek were less than thrilled to see you.

“What the hell are you doing?” Derek asked. Rossi rose to his feet, but he didn’t say anything.

You flipped through the yearbook, eventually finding the class pictures from that year. You set the book down in front of Caleb. 

“The man we’re looking for chooses victims that remind him of Stephanie when she was in high school,” you explained. “Did either of you have a classmate that was… weird? Kept to himself, didn’t know how to talk to girls, maybe had a short temper?”

Caleb looked through the yearbook. “I… I don’t know.”

“Think,” Rossi encouraged. “He might have made a few comments about Stephanie and her appearance.”

Caleb discovered the page showing the football team. After a moment, he pointed to someone in the bottom row. Austin. Austin Beck.”

“What about him?” Derek prompted.

“He mentioned how attracted he was to Stephanie, almost every chance he got,” Caleb said. “Sometimes the other boys would join in, saying she was hot, asking if she had a sister, that sort of thing. Once Steph and I started dating, they stopped.”

“But Austin didn’t,” Rossi said.

Caleb nodded, swallowing nervously. “He didn’t bring it up as often, but he would say that if I ever broke up with her, he wouldn’t hesitate. I snapped at him one day, and that was the last I heard of it.”

“Does he still live in town?” Derek asked.

“Maybe? I heard he works at the mechanic’s shop on West Geranium, but that was a while ago.” 

Suddenly, Spencer entered. He held his phone outwards — it was on speaker.

“Garcia, what can you find on Austin Beck?” Spencer asked into the phone.

“He lived in an apartment on the westside of Grand Junction until a year and a half ago,” Garcia said. “After that, he managed to mostly cover his tracks.”

“Fits the timeline,” Derek said. “Bea Vallette was found dead about 15 months ago; a little less than a year and a half ago.” 

“What else can you find on him?” Rossi inquired.

“His father bought a cabin in 1987. It sits on the eastern border of the city.” 

“That’s right next to the Colorado,” you said. 

“Garcia, send everyone the address. Tell Prentiss and Hotch to meet us there,” Derek said.

In a matter of seconds, it was only you and Caleb left in the room.

  
_____________________

You sat alone at the bar, sipping your drink.

Everything went as well as could be expected — they managed to apprehend Beck without too much trouble. He hid the kids in the basement, most likely to finish them off after he was done with their mother. He never got that far.

“Have you been here this whole time?” Someone asked from behind you. 

You smirked and down the rest of your drink. You spun around in your stool to see Spencer.

“Ever since your team came back to the station,” you confirmed.

“You didn’t stick around to hear the story,” Spencer observed.

“Stephanie and her kids are okay. That’s all I need to know,” you responded. 

Spencer studied you for a moment. “Can I sit down?”

“Sure, why not,” you allowed. When you caught the bartender’s attention, you pointed to your drink, then held up two fingers. He got the memo.

“You didn’t profile me.” 

You chuckled. “Was I supposed to?”

“You could have profiled both of us,” Spencer said. “You chose Derek.”

“Are you jealous?” You teased.

The bartender came over with two more drinks. You thanked him.

“Confused, mostly,” Spencer replied.

You took a sip, nudging the other glass towards Spencer. “I didn’t want to make things awkward,” you admitted. 

“Awkward?”

You didn’t reply right away; it took you some time to gather your thoughts.

“You and I have a lot in common,” you eventually said. “Most people look at us and think we wear our hearts on our sleeves. Really, though, we’re secretive. You hide behind your intellect, I hide behind my job. We’re good at talking to people, but we’re better at shutting them out, because the last time we let someone in, they burned us. For me, it was my father.”

Silence fell between the two of you for a moment. In the corner of your eye, you watched Spencer bring his drink to his lips and take a steady sip. He set it back down on the bar before speaking. 

“Me too.”

The two of you clinked your glasses together.

“Derek was right, you know,” you said.

“Right about what?”

“I am attracted to you,” you said plainly. “Bringing up the idea that he’s an alpha male distracted from that, at least for awhile.”

“I’m attracted to you as well.”

You looked up in surprise. Never in your life have you been so honest with someone, and if you were honest, you thought said honesty would send him running for the hills.

Spencer cleared his throat and suddenly had trouble finding your eyes. “Derek and I have worked together for a long time, so he knows that I appreciate it when people take an interest in me. But you… You’re beautiful, and smart, and amazing at profiling without having to try. A woman like you, interested in someone like me? It’s flattering.”

Hearing Spencer Reid, one of the brightest minds of his generation, say that he was flattered by you, a nobody from nowhere… it made you want to kiss him.

And so, you did.

His lips were chapped — you caught him licking them absentmindedly on a few occasions earlier. Despite that, though, his touch was warm and inviting. Your hand moved to his cheek instinctually. Meanwhile, you felt his fingers against the bottom of your chin. When you felt his other hand land on your waist, you gasped softly, pulling away to take a proper breath.

“Did I do something wrong?” Spencer asked. The concern in his voice warmed your heart. His hand slowly drifted away from your waist.

“No,” you whispered, returning his hand to where it was. “That was perfect.” 

You started kissing him again, and it felt like you couldn’t stop. His grip on you was tight, yet comforting. Your hands trailed down his chest and to his back, pulling him closer. The two of you only parted to take desperate breaths before reentering bliss. Eventually, however, you remembered the two of you weren’t the only people existing, and the bliss was over. 

It didn’t have to be over over, though.

“We’re probably not gonna see each other ever again after tonight,” you said breathlessly. “I don’t know about you, but I don’t want our goodbye to be us sharing our daddy issues.” 

“How would you like me to say goodbye to you, Y/N?” Spencer asked, voice gravelly. 

You smiled, leaning into his ear. “The apartment complex on the corner, 3rd floor, room 17.” 

Your hand was still on his back, so you felt the chill that ran down his spine. You only moved your hand so you could take money out of your wallet.  
You set a few bills on the bar and adjusted the bag on your shoulder. “Goodbye, Dr. Reid,” you said, then gave him a kiss on the cheek.

The minute you stepped into your apartment, you began to panic. You were normally a reserved, almost shy person. You weren’t a girl who tells people when you’re attracted to them, you don’t initiate kisses, you don’t invite men from bars home. You didn’t do this. This wasn’t your normal.

But then again… neither was Spencer. 

He was handsome, and smart, and you could listen to him talk for hours. You’ve never met someone you connected with so well within mere minutes of knowing them. It seemed almost unfair that the two of you had only one night to spend together, but you were determined to make the most of it.

You paced for a bit. You sat down. You went back to pacing. You took off your jacket and threw it on the couch. You checked the time. 15 minutes had passed since you left the bar. If he wanted to see you, he should have been only a few minutes behind you.

You threw in the towel.

You let out a sigh, running a hand through your hair. You felt silly. In some respects, you wanted to cry. Of course it was too good to be true. Of course someone as good-looking and charming as Dr. Spencer Reid didn’t want you. It made sense. It made perfect sense.

You turned your back to the door, pinching the bridge of your nose. Then, you heard a knock.

You spun around, and it took all the self-control you possessed to walk to the door rather than sprint. Normally, you’d look through the peephole before opening the door, but not this time. In this and many other ways, this man was an exception.

You opened the door, and it felt like the wind was knocked out of you.

“Hello, Y/N,” Spencer said. The corner of his lip curved up.

“Hello, Dr. Reid.”


	2. Warm with You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title Song: [x](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wDYjWs6RA1M)

Spencer was gone by morning. He had a plane to catch, so you understood. A part of you wished you had the chance to say a real, verbal goodbye, but your conscious knew a silent departure was for the better. Watching the only man you’ve had a mental, emotional, and physical connection with walk out the door would be plain cruel. It was better for him to disappear without a trace.

Only… it wasn’t without a trace. 

On the pillow Spencer hardly slept on was a note.

‘702-555-0103  
Keep in touch.  
-Spencer.’

You were so, so screwed.

After taking a shower and getting dressed, you were still practically vibrating. The more you thought about it, the higher your hopes grew. You started thinking of alternate scenarios, a world where you and Spencer were in love and alone. A world where state lines and job interferences didn’t exist. The more you thought about it, though, the more you realized that a world like that could be true.

State lines exist. High-demand jobs exist. Families exist. No matter how badly you wanted it to be true, a single man couldn’t make all those things go away. And yet, you pulled out your phone and added his number to your contact list. Because when it came to Spencer Reid, you went against your better judgement. You ignored your instincts. You broke your own rules. Really, you wouldn’t have it any other way.

A knock on your door pulled you out of your fantasy.

You walked to the door and looked through the peephole. With a slight frown, you pulled away and opened the door.

“Agent Hotchner,” you said in surprise.

“Hello Y/N,” he greeted. Despite it being 7:30 in the morning, he was wearing a suit. You wondered if he ever got tired of doing so.

“How do you know where I live?” You asked.

“Sheriff Longman,” he answered simply. “May I come in?”

“If you want,” you shrugged, stepping aside so he could enter. You gestured to the small table in the kitchen. “Can I get you anything? Coffee, water..?”

“Coffee would be great, thanks.”

You brewed a pot while you were showering, so thankfully, it sat on the hotplate, full and ready to be poured. You took two mugs from the cupboard, put a splash of milk in one, and let only coffee fill the other. You took a seat across from Hotch, pushing the mug of black coffee towards him.

“Thank you,” he said, then observed the hot beverage. “What makes you think I take my coffee black?”

“You’re a man of authority, and judging by your composure, you have been for awhile,” you said. “The lines on your face and bags under your eyes suggest you don’t get much sleep, so considering this and your demanding career, you drink coffee to function. You got used to the taste, eventually.”

You raised your own mug to your lips, then laughed nervously in realization. “Sorry. After helping with the case, my filter came off.”

“How long have you been profiling?” Hotch asked.

“Since before I knew its name,” you answered. “My dad always said ‘people watching’ was my hobby. Most people just think I’m good at spotting liars.”

“What do you think?”

You shrugged. “I’ve been profiling for as long as I can remember. I like studying people’s habits, learning the way they think. Humans fascinate me.” You paused. “Why are you here, exactly?”

Hotch smiled briefly, probably at how long it took you to ask. “You weren’t at the station for very long yesterday.”

“I talked to Caleb while you guys were arresting Beck,” you explained. “We talked. By the time you got back, I knew what I needed to know.”

“Which is?”

“I messed up the profile.”

His eyes narrowed ever so slightly. “How so?”

“Caleb Chasing made mistakes when it came to his marriage, but he’s not a bad man. He told me it was his fault they ever got divorced, and that Stephanie didn’t win full custody, he gave it to her.”

“Really?”

You nodded, sipping your drink. “It wasn’t court-ordered, but Caleb took the kids every other weekend. Stephanie agreed to that. I totally misread the situation.”

“You didn’t,” Hotch disagreed. “Your profile was spot on.”

You frowned. “How?”

“Stephanie was his type, and her divorce with Caleb was the stressor.”

“That makes no sense.”

“Austin didn’t kill because he was angry with Stephanie: he was angry with Caleb,” Hotch explained. “His love for Stephanie didn’t go away after she married, but his anger towards Caleb amplified.”

“He loved her so much that he didn’t kill Caleb,” you whispered in realization. “He wanted to hurt Caleb, but he knew it would hurt her, so he refrained.”

Hotch nodded. 

“But why not just kill Caleb?” you said.

“Like you said, hurting Caleb would hurt Stephanie. Invert that logic.”

“The women were surrogates for Stephanie, and when he was done with them, he used them against Caleb.”

“Your profile was right,” Hotch repeated. “We brought in the wrong man, yes, but without Caleb, we never would have found Beck. We wouldn’t have found Caleb without your profile.”

“I’m just glad I could help,” you ceded. You paused. “Did he ever mention why he washed and folded the clothes?”

“He thought he was doing Stephanie justice,” Hotch answered. “He made his victims take off their clothes before he raped them, and after killing them, he wanted to touch the body as little as possible. That’s why he didn’t redress them.”

“So there was no blood on their clothes,” you thought aloud. “Beck just genuinely thought he was doing them a service.”

Hotch nodded. You merely shuddered in response. 

“Have you ever considered becoming a Behavioral Analyst?” Hotch proceeded to ask.

You looked up in surprise. “That’s... not really an option around here,” you replied.

“You could relocate,” Hotch said. “You served in the Army, which means you could attend classes virtually anywhere, and they would be paid for.” 

“Are you offering me a job, Agent Hotchner?” You asked, confused.

“I can’t promise anything, but considering your background and natural abilities, I think it’d be fairly easy to find an opening for you in the BAU,” Hotch told you. “You proved yourself to everyone on my team, including myself. All you would need is the credentials. ...That is, if you’re interested.”

You bit your lip, considering your options.

Hotch wasn’t offering you anything concrete, but damn if he wasn’t offering you something. You hardly knew the man, yet something told you it wasn’t everyday that he told someone they’d make a good profiler, especially when said person isn’t even in law enforcement. Not to mention, he was absolutely right — your service in the Army covered the tuition of practically any school you could dream of going to. You could get your degree in New York, or California, or DC.

You could be within a few miles of Spencer, rather than a few hundred. 

When it came down to it, though, you didn’t live in a fairytale. Similar to your ‘relationship’ with Spencer, conflicts arose. You already had a job, and you loved it. Colorado, though not your favorite place to live, was home, and it wasn’t done with you yet. Life wasn’t as easy as moving across the country to pursue a career while courting a man who might not even be interested in you.

“I can’t leave,” you said quietly. “My life is here.” 

Hotch didn’t seem to react; over the years, he mastered his poker face.

“It’s a lot to think about,” Hotch sympathized, “and I don’t expect an immediate answer. In fact, I don’t need an answer at all. All I ask is that you consider.” He reached into his jacket and pulled out a small card. “If you need anything, give me a call.”

Two phone numbers from two men in the span of two days. It seemed as though your bad luck charm was officially broken.

  
_____________________

It took you 3 months to call Spencer. It wasn’t that you forgot, or met someone else — he crossed your mind everyday. And yet, you couldn’t bring yourself to speak to him.

For a long time, you tried convincing yourself that he didn’t really care. You decided he gave you his number out of charity, or because he didn’t want to be a guy who has meaningless sex. It took you a long time to consider the fact that he might actually like you, might actually want to spend time with you. That he might want to see you again as desperately as you wanted to see him.

Once you came to this conclusion, an opportunity fell in your lap.

You decided to finally call Spencer right before your shift started. Other people probably considered it to be the worst possible time, but you thought through your plan for days before the execution. Your work kept you busy, which meant you wouldn’t have time to think about your boy troubles. You’d be too busy saving lives. Also, your shift was at night, so by the time you got home, you’d be too exhausted to let your worries keep you up. It seemed like a win-win situation.

When everyone left the locker room, you sat down on the bench with a nervous breath. Your stomach was in knots and it got harder to breathe with each passing second. Biting the bullet, you went to your contact list, scrolled down to the “S” section, and dialed the first name you read.

After 3 rings, the call went to voicemail. Though this partially worried you, it mostly made you feel relieved. It would be so much easier talking to his answering machine.

‘This is Dr. Spencer Reid. I can’t come to the phone right now, so please, leave a message,’ a recording of his voice said.

It wasn’t a fake number. You sighed, endlessly grateful.

“Hi, Spencer,” you said, sounding like you had just run a marathon. You cleared your throat in an attempt to sound more composed. “This is Y/N, the paramedic from Colorado,” you said. “I was invited to this wedding in Vegas, and I was wondering if you wanted to be my plus one. It’s over the weekend, so you should be back to work by Monday.” 

You laughed nervously. “I honestly don’t know if you even remember me. If you don’t, or if you don’t want to go, please ignore this message. If you do remember me, and you do want to go, feel free to text me or give me a call back. That’s it, I guess. Goodbye, Dr. Reid.”

The butterflies in your stomach dispersed by the time you hung up. You ran your hands through your hair, feeling both triumphant and anxious. You pushed the latter emotion to the side. The worst part was over. The ball was in his court.

  
_____________________

Your shift was the longest you’d had in a while. You resuscitated a middle-aged man, tended to to the bloody aftermath of a bar fight, and delivered a baby, all within the span of your 12-hour shift. Normally, your days were much, much slower. The silver lining was that you didn’t have a second to spare, which meant you went half a day without thinking of Spencer and the voicemail you left for him. That aspect of your plan worked out pretty well.

Once you got home, you tossed your coat onto the table and dropped your bag to the floor. You were exhausted. Despite the change of clothes you went through in the middle of the night, you still smelled like blood and other various bodily fluids. Oh, the glamour of working in the medical field. 

Not wanting to bring the grime of your job into your bed, you hopped into the shower. You were in and out quick, deciding against washing your hair. You only wanted to clean up so you could get some sleep.

Once you were out of the bathroom, you walked back into your bedroom. You checked your phone, which you left on the nightstand. You had one text left unread.

_‘**Spencer:** which weekend?’_

So much for sleeping.

  
_____________________

Over the next month, you and Spencer worked out the details. The wedding was a great excuse, but Spencer actually proposed the idea of spending more time together, which may or may not have made you squeal. Thankfully, you were alone when you read the text, so only you had to live with the embarrassment.

The wedding was on Saturday. The flight he ended up scheduling was for Wednesday. He’d spend the night at your apartment, and on Thursday morning, the two of you would start a 7+ hour road trip to Nevada.

You enjoyed road trips already, so the idea of spending that time with Spencer seemed almost too good to be true. Plus, the fact that two nights would be spent at a hotel was no accident. You wanted to drag those 7 hours out for as long as possible, and Spencer didn’t seem too opposed to the idea. 

If everything went according to plan, the two of you would be back in Colorado by Monday, and his returning flight was scheduled for Tuesday morning. Almost an entire week of nothing but him. You could only hope he was as excited as you were.

Though it seemed like a fantasy, Wednesday did come. You stood in the airport, holding a sign that read “Dr. Spencer Reid”. Mostly, it was a joke, but a part of you thought he may have forgotten your face.

Eventually, you saw a tall, gangly brunette with glasses make his way down the escalator. Your face broke into a smile as you lifted the sign above your head. You managed to catch Spencer’s attention. He broke into a grin. 

Once he made his way through the crowd, Spencer simply stood in front of you for a moment. He looked your frame up and down, taking in every inch of beauty he saw. His eyes met yours.

“Hi,” he said quietly, smiling.

“Hello,” you responded. 

The two of you chuckled and hugged each other.

He was quite a bit taller than you, so moments after wrapping your arms around him, you felt his chin settle onto your shoulder. When he adjusted, you felt his lips against your neck. You held him tighter.

“You look… amazing,” he said breathlessly, pulling away. He kept his hands on your arms.

Your face was beginning to hurt because of how much you were smiling. “Thank you. So do you.”

You reached your hand up, carding your fingers through his hair. “You cut your hair.”

“You like it?” He asked. There was a small, almost microscopic nervous edge in his voice.

“I like you,” you said simply.

That earned you a kiss.

To anyone passing by, the two of you looked like any average couple: happy to be reunited, and happy to be in love. Oh, how you wished it was that simple.

You weren’t sure Spencer was in love. You weren’t sure you were in love, if you were completely honest. All you knew was that around him, the world disappeared, at least for a little while. No one’s made you feel that way in your life, not even before you joined the Army. 

You saw some things overseas, some things you wanted desperately to forget. You thought resigning and returning home would fix that, make you forget. All it seemed to do so far, though, was distract you with other things you also didn’t want to think about. It seemed like, no matter how hard you tried, you could no longer see in color. Since the Army, since your father… you saw the world in black and white.

Not around him, though. Around him, there was more color than you could fathom. Instead of trying to figure out why, you kissed him. You kissed him, and for the life of you, you didn’t want to stop. 

By Thursday evening, the two of you had been on the road for almost 4 ½ hours. You had done most of the driving, but you didn’t mind. With Spencer in the passenger seat, you could be occupied for days.

All you had to do was ask about a highway or a structure you passed, and for the next 15 minutes, Spencer would tell stories. You were sure some people found it annoying — he stopped his rants several times to see if you were still interested. That broke your heart a little. You understood that his job could have intense moments where only basic information is needed, but you had a feeling that wasn’t the only time people cut him off. It made you sad to think he got shot down when talking about the things he loved.

“Are you sure I’m not talking too much?” Spencer asked for the millionth time.

You smiled. Your window was open, so your hair was blown back and your arm rested on the ledge. “I’m sure,” you promised. “Have you ever been to Vegas?”

“Vegas is where I grew up.”

“Wow, really?” you said in surprise. You’d never thought to ask. “You’ll have to show me around, then. I've never been.”

“You’ll fit in,” he assured. A brief silence washed over the car. “Did you grow up in Colorado?”

“Yeah, I did,” you nodded. “I grew up in Grand Junction, actually.”

“You never left?”

“Except for when I served,” you confirmed.

“How did that happen?” Spencer asked. “I mean, was joining the Army something you always wanted to do?”

You stiffened at the question. In an attempt to relax, you cleared your throat. 

“I’m sorry. You don’t have to answer that.”

You smiled sadly. “No, it’s… it’s okay. I just… I don’t think I’ve ever told anyone why.”

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” Spencer assured. 

You considered for a moment. “I do,” you eventually said, tapping your thumb against the steering wheel. “I want to tell you.”

He didn’t say anything; he simply waited for you to start.

“Do you remember the bar?” you asked, mostly rhetorically. “How you sat next to me, asked me why I profiled Derek instead of you?”

“I remember.”

“Do you remember when I said I have trust issues because my father wronged me?” You asked, this time, quieter.

You saw him nod in your peripheral vision. 

“That wasn’t exactly true,” you said. “I mean, it wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t the full story. You see, my dad didn’t wrong me so much as he… died.”

“I’m sorry, Y/N.”

You shrugged, wishing it was enough to brush off the feeling. “I was 16. Losing him made me lose myself for awhile, you know? He was there one second, gone the next, and I had to live with it. All I wanted to do was get the hell out of Colorado, start fresh. The Army did that for me. Plus, I got to help people. It seemed like a win-win situation.” 

“You made the best of a bad situation,” Spencer said. “You should be proud of yourself.”

“I did get to help people,” you thought vocally. “That part was nice. The PTSD… not as nice.” 

Spencer laughed sadly. “It never is.”

You decided to leave it at that.

The wedding was the part of your vacation you least looked forward to. However, you had to admit: you and Spencer looked incredible. You wore a short navy dress, he rented a matching suit. You turned heads in the church, at the reception. You swore the bride gave you a dirty look at one point. You didn’t care. All you cared about was Spencer’s hand on your waist as the two of you danced. 

“Why did it take you so long to call?” Spencer asked during a slow song. His lips were close to your ear. His breath against your skin made a pleasant chill go down your spine. 

“Life got in the way,” you muttered. It was a poor excuse, but it was hard to put into words that you wanted to see him but thought you couldn’t. Or rather, that you shouldn’t.

“I missed you,” he admitted. 

“Oh yeah?” you teased. “What did you miss?”  
“Being around you,” Spencer said. He pulled away a bit so he could look you in the eye. “You’re the only person who’s never looked at me like I’m crazy. Don’t get me wrong, my friends are great, but… they don’t understand. You do.”

You set a hand on his cheek. He leaned into the touch.

“I wish you were closer,” he said softly.

“Me too,” you agreed. “But right here, right now, we’re together. Let’s make the most of that, hm?”

He kissed you in silent agreement.

You were pouring a second cup of hotel coffee when you felt Spencer’s arms wrap around your waist. You turned around in his grip, offering him a mug while you took a sip from the other.

“Thank you,” he said as he accepted the coffee. He kept one arm around you. 

“What’s on the agenda today, Dr. Reid?” you asked curiously. 

“It’s a surprise,” he said, pulling you closer. 

“Another casino?” you asked. “I like watching you call people’s bluff. It’s kind of hot.”

He chuckled. “Not a casino. I’m taking you somewhere special. Well, it’s special to me, at least.”

“I’m excited,” you grinned, running a hand down his chest. “You know that means you’ll have to put a shirt on, right?” 

“I will,” he assured, setting his mug on the table. “Eventually.”

He then took your mug and set it beside his. This confused you at first, but you quickly realized why: Spencer picked you up by the waist.

You set your hands on his shoulders, tilting your head back and letting out a laugh. “What are you doing?! Put me down!”

Spencer threw you on the bed and crawled on top of you. He kissed you feverishly.

“Still want me to put a shirt on?”

You traced his collarbone with your index finger, humming softly. “Maybe later.”

You let Spencer drive to wherever he was taking you, as the element of surprise seemed to be important. You stared out the window for most of the trip, enjoying the scenery that passed you by. Your hand was on Spencer’s thigh, and his hand was on top of yours. It was brief moments like those that you let yourself believe you and him were in a relationship. 

Spencer eventually pulled into a parking lot. You let yourself look at the building he parked in front of. In a plain, black font, the sign above the doors read ‘Bennington Sanitarium’. You turned your attention to Spencer.

“Do you trust me?” He asked instead of explaining.

You turned your hand over and laced your fingers with his. “Of course.”

The two of you got visitor passes quickly; it mostly likely meant he visited often. You weren’t sure how to feel about that.

As the two of you were lead through to building, you held Spencer’s hand. When you were shown to an open room that resembled something of a lounge, you felt his grip falter. You took it as a queue to let go. You let your hand fall back to your side, suddenly feeling cold.

A woman with short, blonde hair in a long sweater stood up upon seeing Spencer. She was obviously older than both of you, but she carried her age with grace. She had wrinkles only a mother could get.

“Hi, mom,” Spencer greeted warmly. 

The woman smiled and hugged him.

“Hello, Spencer,” she returned. 

When she pulled away, she noticed you. 

“Who’s this?” She asked.

“Her name’s Y/N. She’s my…”

“Friend,” you finished for him. You stuck your hand out with a smile.

Though hesitant, the woman shook your hand. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Y/N, this is Diana Reid. My mother.” 

Diana looked to her son. “She’s pretty.”

“Mom!”

“What? It’s not like you didn’t notice,” she teased. She turned her attention to you. “Do you work with Spencer?”

“No,” you shook your head with a chuckle. “Well, not exactly. We met when he was working a case.”

“No conflict of interest…” Diana noted. Spencer gave her a look, but said nothing. “Do you play poker, Y/N?”

“Not as well as Spencer, but I try,” you replied.

You headed out of Vegas early the next day. You wanted to get a head start before the morning traffic, and besides, you knew it would be nice for Spencer if he got some real sleep before his flight. You didn’t want to think about the fact that your time with him was ending, though, so you pushed that thought to the back of your mind. 

“Why did you take me meet your mother?” you asked softly. Spencer opted to take the first half the drive back home. You agreed, hoping the silence would clear your head.

“She’s my biggest secret,” Spencer said. “It took me years to tell anyone on the team she’s been in treatment since I was 18.”

“Why tell me?”

“You told me about your dad. I thought it was only fair you learn something ugly about me and my life.”

You reached a hand out, brushing back some of his hair. “Nothing about you is ugly.” 

When your hand hovered over his cheek, Spencer turned his hand to kiss your palm. You smiled. 

“Thank you for trusting me with your secret,” you told him.

He smiled. “Thank you for letting me.” 

The radio played quietly in the backdrop. The songs changed, and you recognized the faint beginning. You turned up the dial and sang along.

“A year from now, we’ll all be gone, all our friends will move away,” You sang, mostly to yourself. “And they’re going to better places, but our friends will be gone away. Nothing is as it has been, and I miss your face like hell,” you sang a bit louder, mostly so Spencer could hear. “And I guess it’s just as well,” you reached a hand up, running your thumb along his jaw. “...But I miss your face like hell.” 

The rest of the ride was like a dream come true. At the halfway mark, you pulled over, got some lunch, and switched places. Other than that, the two of you sang, talked, sang some more, and stole kisses when the other person wasn’t paying attention. Of course, you were driving, so the kisses were nothing more than a peck on the cheek. Still, you blushed and giggled every time his lips touched your skin. 

Maybe this weekend was a pipe dream, a delusion you’d soon awake from or a phase you’d outgrow. You didn’t really care. For a brief moment in time, you were in love. That’s what you chose to care about. That what you made matter.

  
_____________________

That night, your head rested on Spencer’s chest. You listened to his heart, and it seemed like with every beat, he pulled you a little bit closer. You felt euphoric.

And yet, at the same time, you felt guilty. 

“Spencer?” you asked quietly, like if you spoke to loudly, the moment would evaporate. “Can I tell you something?”

“Anything,” he promised. His hands ran up and down your back, as if to assure you.

“Hotchner came to see me the morning before your flight home,” you said. “He asked if I had any interest in becoming a profiler.”

Spencer shifted, sitting up against the bed frame. You sat up as well. You couldn’t bring yourself to look at him.

“Y/N, that’s… incredible,” he said with a laugh of blissful disbelief.

Your head shot up. “Really?”

“Why wouldn’t it be?” Spencer asked. “You’d make an excellent profiler, and you’d be a welcome addition to the team. Plus, we could use someone with your sort of medical expertise.” 

You smiled smally. “You think so?”

He took your hand, squeezing lightly. “There’s not a doubt in my mind.” 

“I’m sorry I didn’t say anything earlier,” you apologized. “I’ve spent these last few months thinking.” 

“I understand; it’s a lot to think about.” 

As always, Dr. Spencer Reid was completely and utterly right.

Saying goodbye at the airport turned out to be a lot harder than you thought. 

You sat side by side for a long time, holding hands and listening to music. You shared one set of earbuds, and the two of you took turns choosing the music. Spencer once mentioned that he mostly listened to Classical music, but he seemed to be enjoying the songs you introduced him to. And, surprisingly, you enjoyed the ones he chose too. You used to think you didn’t like classical music. 

At one point, during a song he picked out, Spencer began to tap his fingers against your knee. You were leaned against his body, one leg crossed over the other, so it was easy for him to rest his arm on your thigh and tap your knee. It took you a few seconds to realize he was ‘playing’ the song on your knee as he would play it on the piano. 

Eventually, his flight was called, and the two of you had to part ways. You stood up, and tears began to well in your eyes. You cleared your throat, forcing a smile on your face.

“I had a good time this last week,” you told Spencer. “I had a really, really good time.”

He smiled. “I did too.”

You felt a tear make its way down your face. You wiped it away hastily. “I hate goodbyes.”

Spencer moved in, kissing your forehead and wrapping an arm around your waist. “Hello, Y/N.” 

You chuckled, leaning into his touch. “Hello, Dr. Reid.”

  
_____________________

“What did you do with your time off?” your mother asked, pouring hot water into your mug. She insisted on making you tea instead of coffee — something about how you should cut back on caffeine.

“I went to Natalie’s wedding,” you answered, taking a careful sip.

She frowned. “The one in Vegas?”

You nodded.

“You hate going to weddings,” your mom said, taking a seat at the table across from you. 

“I hate going to weddings alone,” you corrected.

You bobbed your tea bag up and down. You chose to look at the movement rather than the look you knew was on your mother’s face.

“Who did you go with?”

“Dr. Spencer Reid,” you replied. Even in your peripheral vision, you could see your mom’s jaw drop. 

“‘Doctor’?” She asked. “How old is he?”

“My age,” you responded. “He’s not an MD: he has a few doctorates, is all.”

“A few? And he’s your age? Who is this man, Einstein?”

“He’s definitely a genius,” you assured with a laugh.

“How’d you meet him?”

“Oh, he works for the FBI,” you answered. You tried to sound as casual as you possibly could.

“How did you manage to meet an FBI agent?” She paused. “You met him because of those girls, didn’t you?”

You tried not to think about that too often; it made you feel dirty. What happened to those girls was horrible, and it didn’t feel fair that one of the best things in your life happened because of their suffering. In fact, the guilt that fact caused you was part of the reason why you didn’t tell Spencer about Hotch’s offer.

“I did,” you confirmed. “I like him, mom. I like him a lot.” 

She smiled, setting a hand on your cheek. “I’m glad you do, hon.” she moved her hand away to take a sip from her own mug. “How often do you get to see Spencer?”

“Not often enough,” you said. 

“Is all you wanted to talk about, Y/N?” She asked. “You sounded worried over the phone…”

You sighed. “I applied to the University of Virginia… and I got accepted. I can start in Spring.”

“That’s… amazing,” your mom praised. “Since when did you want to go back to school?” 

“Since I realized the world is bigger than Colorado,” you replied. “Bigger than the Army, even.”

“What will you be going for?”

“Psychology for sure. At least a Masters, maybe a PhD if I’m feeling adventurous.”

“Will you be working while you take classes? They could use a Paramedic like you anywhere,” your mom said.

“Mom, I never said I was going,” you told her.

“Why wouldn’t you?! It’s an incredible opportunity,” she argued.

“I know. It’s just… not here. I wouldn’t be in Colorado anymore.”

“So? Like you said, the world is bigger than Colorado,” she said. The expression on her face changed. “Honey, don’t stay here for me. Seriously, don’t. I can’t live with that.”

“It wouldn’t be your choice,” you said. “Besides, it’s not just about you. It’s about me too, you know.”

“It’s about your father,” your mother disagreed softly. She took your hand. “If Virginia will make you happy, then go to Virginia. You’ll visit me, I’ll visit you… We’ll make it work. Promise me you won’t stay for me, for your dad, or for anyone else.”

“I left you once,” you said weakly, shame in your voice and heart. “Dad died, and 2 years later, I left. I can’t just leave you again, Mom.”

“You’re not leaving me,” she promised. “You’re_ living_. That’s what your dad would want you to do.” She squeezed your hand. “It’s what I want you to do.” 

After awhile, you nodded.

You always thought you were good at leaving. Maybe now, you’d be good at living. You couldn’t wait to start living, especially if it meant Spencer would be by your side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you know the song 'you' sang to Spencer, you deserve a cookie 🍪
> 
> This was definitely more on the romance side compared to the last chapter, but something tells me ya'll won't mind 😏.
> 
> Please leave a comment! I love hearing from my readers, and it helps keep me inspired to write :)


	3. We All Need Someone to Hold

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just as a heads up, this fic is going to be FAR from linear to the story's timeline. Basically, I'll be jumping around and stealing the plots of my favorite episodes rather than following the show chronologically. I won't do this with vital stories (like Foyet or Doyle's arc), just with the smaller, standalone episodes. So, for example, this chapter's plot focuses on 7x18, but I think the next chapter's plot will be the events of an episode in season 4. 
> 
> Title Song: [x](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xNVZ4fzkSu8)

Clearing out your apartment was easier than you thought it would be; turns out, ever since you got back from Syria, you didn’t have much in terms of belongings. Being a soldier, you learned to pack light. You supposed you never made it out of that mindset. 

Saying goodbye to your parents was surprisingly easy. Of course, your dad couldn’t really argue, him being six feet under and all. You hoped he approved, wherever he was. Like your mom said — he’d want you to move on. 

Your mom managed to keep it together until the two of you were standing in the driveway, saying your ‘final’ goodbye. You caught her wiping away a few tears.

“Come on, mom, don’t cry,” you begged, pulling her into a hug.

“I’m just proud of you, honey,” she assured. She pulled away, setting her hands on your cheeks. “I’m a little sad, but mostly, I’m proud. I know this wasn’t an easy decision for you.”

“I’ll text everyday, and I’ll call you at least once a week,” you said. “I’ll be back for the holidays, too. And hey, maybe I’ll bring Spencer.”

“I can’t wait to meet him.”

You smiled and hugged your mom one last time. You got into your jeep, waved goodbye, and pulled out of the driveway. Only then did you let a few tears of your own fall.

They weren’t out of sadness, per se; you could feel the chapter ending, was all. You didn’t like endings. You didn’t like to say goodbye.

  
_____________________

“Hello?”

“Hey, Spence,” you greeted warmly. You were standing at a gas station somewhere in Western Missouri — about halfway to Virginia.

“What are you doing up so early?” He asked. You could hear the sleep in his voice.

“Oh, shit, did I wake you up?” you said, feeling guilty. “I’ll call you back in a few hours.” 

“No, it’s okay,” he promised. “I like talking to you.”

You smiled again. “Do you like seeing me?” 

“Of course I do.”

“Can I take you out to breakfast Friday morning?” 

“How can you do that if you’re in Colorado?”

Your smile widened. “I never said I was in Colorado.”

“...You’re in Virginia?” He asked, confused.

“I’m on my way,” you answered. “I’m in Missouri now, so I should be there in two days.”

“Two days..?” He thought aloud. A moment of silence passed. “Oh my god, Y/N, are you driving?!”

“Of course I am,” you replied. “What else did you expect?”

“That’s over 1,500 miles!” He shouted. “Something could happen!”

You leaned against the jeep. “Like what?”

“Anything! Your car could break down, your reservations could fall through, you could get kidnapped…”

“Spencer,” you said, cutting him off. “I lived in a warzone for 3 years. I can handle a 25-hour road trip.”

“Where are you? What’s your specific location in Missouri?” Spencer asked. You could hear shuffling.

“Does it matter?”

“It does matter, because I’m gonna catch a flight,” he said. 

“No you are not!” You laughed. “I am fine, Spencer. I’m not letting you waste a couple grand on a last minute flight to Boondocks, Missouri.”

He sighed. “What are your plans for tonight?”

“I have hotel reservations in Nashville,” you chuckled. “I should be there no later than 7 tonight.”

“And if you’re not?”

“Then I’ll call you,” you answered simply. “And if I don’t respond, I just gave your team a case. You’re welcome in advance.”

“This isn’t funny, Y/N!”

You covered your mouth to stifle your laughter. “You know, it’s a good thing we weren’t dating while I was in Syria,” you said, still giggling. “You wouldn’t have survived the first night, let alone 3 years.”

Silence.

“Spence, are you there?” you asked.

“You said we’re dating.” 

Your heart rate picked up. “Aren’t we?” you asked with a nervous chuckle. “I mean, you introduced me to your mom. Fuck-buddies don’t do that.” 

“I guess they don’t,” he ceded. You could practically see his smile. “Hey, why are you coming to Virginia anyways?”

“I can’t drive over 1,500 miles to see you?” you joked.

“You can, but you never have.”

That was a can of worms you didn’t feel like opening over the phone. 

“I’ll tell you when I get there,” you said. “I’ll call you at 7, let you know what’s going on.”

“Stay safe, okay Y/N?” 

You smiled. “Always.”

After filling up the jeep, you sat down in the driver’s seat with a sigh. You leaned your head back and closed your eyes for a moment. You wondered how Spencer would have reacted had you told him you had slept in your car the night before. 

You opened your eyes after awhile to see your dog tags hanging on the rearview mirror. You leaned forward, took them off, and put them around your neck. You were closing a chapter in your life, so it seemed appropriate to remember the old ones.

  
_____________________

You found your new apartment complex in no time, as it was only a few minutes from campus. You considered staying in the dorms, but ultimately decided against it for multiple reasons. It wasn’t much cheaper to live on campus, you being an out of state student, so financially, there was no benefit. Also, you’d been used to living on your own since the Army; you didn’t feel like living with a stranger in their early twenties at the oldest, 18 at the youngest.

You parked in front so your stuff would be easier to move in. What you didn’t expect was seeing Spencer sitting on the front steps. 

“What are you doing here?!” you asked, jogging up to greet him. Without hesitation, you pulled him into a hug.

“I asked Garcia to do some digging,” he admitted. “You could have told me you were moving.”

“I wanted it to be a surprise,” you grinned, pulling away. You brushed some hair out of his face.

“Believe me, I am surprised,” Spencer promised. Then, he grinned, grabbed you by the waist, and pulled you into a kiss. 

“You know, we can do this as much as we want now,” you said smugly after pulling away. 

“I guess so,” he smiled. He ran his thumb over your mouth, biting his bottom lip as he did so. 

“If you help me move in, I’ll let you stay the night,” you bribed, resting your arms on his shoulders. “We can order a pizza, watch a movie… do a little more than kissing.”

“You had me at ‘stay the night.’”

Just like moving out didn’t take much time, neither did moving in. Truthfully, you took the most time making your bed. The rest of your items were unpacked in less than an hour.

“Is this all of your stuff?” Spencer asked, looking around the bare room. 

You nodded. “Besides the stuff my mom has at home. I’m not very materialistic.” 

“Have you always been this way?” He inquired curiously.

“Ever since Syria,” you admitted. “Once you see how people in poverty live, a 70” flat screen doesn’t seem all that important, I guess.” 

Spencer took a seat on the couch. “You served for 3 years, right?”

“I thought you had an eidetic memory,” you teased, taking a seat beside him.

“I’m trying to be more conversational.”

“Just be yourself,” you encouraged. “I like you for you.”

He smiled, looking down.

“I was deployed for 3 years,” you said, despite him knowing the answer. “Served for a total of 5. I saw a lot of things. But no matter how bad it got, I knew the people in the situation had it so much worse. It’s like your work at the BAU — you see the worst of humanity, but you don’t suffer from it. It’s just your job to help the people that do.”

“Speaking of the BAU…” Spencer segued. “Have you called Hotch?”

“I… don’t know what to say,” you admitted. 

“I can talk to him for you, if you want,” Spencer offered.

“I’m a big girl: I can do it myself,” you replied. “Thank you, though.”

“Of course,” Spencer said, taking your hand.

Turns out, Spencer didn’t have to tell Hotch anything for him to figure out you were in Virginia. You got voicemail one afternoon, right after a different job interview. Hotch said he ‘got a hold of’ a letter of recommendation your former Sergeant Major wrote for you. He proceeded to say that, if you were still interested, he’d like to set up an interview. 

You called Spencer right away, and the minute you told him, he picked you up and spun you around with joy.

  
_____________________

The hours before your interview was probably the most nerve-wracking moment of your life. You were terrified of failing, even more so than when you joined the Army. You wouldn’t be able to live with yourself if you fluked this.

“I’m gonna vomit,” you told Spencer, who was sitting at his desk in the BAU bullpen. Meanwhile, you were relentlessly pacing. “Or faint. Or both.” 

“You’re gonna do fine, Y/N,” Spencer assured. “I’ve never seen Hotch offer an interview to someone. As far as he’s concerned, you’re qualified.”

“Hey beautiful,” someone behind you remarked. You turned around to see Derek Morgan.

“Hey, Derek,” you smiled with some relief. 

“What brings you to Quantico?” He asked, taking a sip from his mug.

“An interview,” you answered simply. Had you continued, you would have rambled. It’s a nervous tick of yours.

He raised his eyebrows in surprise. “An interview for the BAU?”

You nodded. 

“Good luck, doll,” he said, patting your shoulder. “You’ll do great.”  
Suddenly, you felt Spencer take your hand. 

“Seriously, Y/N, you’ll nail it,” he promised. 

“Y/N Y/L/N?” Hotchner called from the balcony. 

You let go of Spencer’s hand, looking up. “Yes sir?”

“Ready when you are,” he said, then walked back into his office. 

You smoothed down your blouse, sucking in a breath. “Wish me luck.”

“You don’t need it,” Spencer said with a smile. 

“Thanks,” you replied, taking a few steps towards the stairs. “Oh, and Spencer?”

He looked up.

“Jealousy doesn’t look good on you,” you said with a wink.

“She’s not wrong,” you heard Derek say before you made your way up the stairs.

“Why do you think you’d be an asset to this team?” Hotchner asked.

You sat across from his desk, while Erin Strauss, the section chief, stood to the side. 

“Well, all of my former commanders speak very highly of me,” you started. “I was a combat medic in an active warzone for 3 years. I saved more lives than I can count, both civilian and fellow soldiers.” 

“While we appreciate your service,” Erin started, “all BAU agents hold a specific set of skills. What are your qualifications in terms of education?”

“I’m pursuing a degree in Psychology at the University of Virginia,” you informed. 

“What year are you in?”

“...I’ll be a freshman in a few months.”

Strauss shot Hotchner a look.

You pursed your lips, then let out a soft, almost inaudible chuckle. 

“Is something funny, Miss Y/L/N?” Stauss asked.

“No ma’am,” you assured. “It’s just… I’m twenty-five. I enlisted the second I turned eighteen, and I served my country for 5 years. Uncle Sam is paying for my degree, which I couldn’t pursue earlier, because like I said, I was serving my country.”

“And like I said, your service is appreciated,” Strauss countered. “But -”

“I get it,” you cut her off, feeling suddenly confident. “There are probably better candidates out there, at least on paper. You can hire someone that’s worked in the FBI for years, who’s taken the proper classes to become a profiler. I get it — they’re less of a risk. But I’m good in a crisis. I’ve worked in emergency medicine for 7 years, and for 3 of those years, I was being shot at while practicing. I could ace any physical or psychological evaluation you throw my way. And, even though it doesn’t mean much, I’ve been profiling since before I could spell my own name. Maybe there are better candidates out there, I honestly don’t know. But what I do know is that I could be pretty damn amazing, if you give me the chance. ...Ma’am.”

  
_____________________

Spencer invited you over for the night, but you couldn’t seem to focus on anything other than the interview.

“I mouthed off to her,” you said, running your hands through your hair. “God, I’m an idiot. I’m never getting the job.”

“Y/N, come lay down,” Spencer said. His back was against the backboard, the book he was reading now in his lap. 

“I can’t, I’m pacing,” you mumbled, continuing to walk around his bedroom. 

Spencer didn’t say anything; he put his book on the nightstand, pulled the covers back, walked over to you, and set you down on the bed. He sat behind you and began rubbing your shoulders. 

“You’re smart, you’re strong, good under pressure, and more than qualified,” he said. “You’ll get a call back. Just give it some time.” 

You leaned into his touch, letting yourself relax for the first time all day. “You’re right. I’m sorry I’ve been so crazy. I just… really want this. I’m terrified that I ruined things for myself.”

“I’m sure you did better than you think,” Spencer said softly. “Strauss puts up a strong front, but she’s not as bad as she seems. All she wants is someone who can do the job well and stay out of trouble.”

You leaned your back against his chest. “Thank you,” you whispered. 

He wrapped his arms around your waist, pressing his lips into your shoulder. You set your hands over his. 

You weren’t sure when the two of you fell asleep; all you knew is that you fell asleep on top of Spencer’s chest with your face buried in his neck. Normally, upon waking up, you would savor the moment. But this morning, your ringing phone woke you up. 

Carefully moving as to not wake Spencer, you untangled yourself from bed and picked up your phone on the 3rd ring. 

“Hello?” you asked, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes.

“Y/N?” The voice asked. “It’s Aaron Hotchner.”

Any fatigue in your body left at that exact moment.

“Yes, Sir. Good morning,” you greeted.

“I just heard back from Erin Strauss. Are you able to start Monday?”

“Yes! Yes, absolutely.” 

“That’s good to hear. I’ll see you 8AM sharp come Monday.”

“Yes Sir. Thank you, Sir,” you said, before wishing him goodbye. 

You hung up the phone, squealed, and began to jump around. You were so absorbed in your own happiness that you didn’t hear Spencer stir awake. 

“Good news?” He asked sleepily. 

Beaming, you leaned down and kissed him. “Great news.”

  
_____________________

Your day started with a lot of formalities — you sat in an office with the head of HR, learning about uniforms, insurance, and retirement plans. Your uniform was easy compared to virtually everyone else in the BAU; you had to wear a garment stating your job as a paramedic at all times. This came in two easy forms: a t-shirt or a bomber jacket, both provided by the Bureau. Apparently, you’re supposed to stick out in a crowd. You wondered if it was a rule for all medical personnel in the FBI, or if Strauss had something to do with it.

The HR manager was about to get into 401ks when the two of you were interrupted.

“Oh good, you’re still here,” a high, chipper voice said from the doorway. “Y/N, we need you for a briefing.” 

You turned around in your chair to see a blonde woman dressed in bright clothing. From what Spencer had told you about the team, you guessed it was the one and only Penelope Garcia. 

“Already?” you asked, then looked back to the HR manager.

“Y/N hasn’t had any training,” he said slowly. “Can’t the team wait until the next case?”

“Talk to SSA Hotchner,” Garcia stated simply. “Until then, the medical goddess is mine.” 

You turned back to the manager. He sighed in resignation.

“We’ll talk later,” he dismissed you.

You smiled professionally. “I look forward to it,” you said pleasantly before exiting the room behind Garcia. 

“You’ve seriously had no training?” Garcia asked in disbelief. Her heels clicked loudly on the floor as she walked.

“Not with the FBI, no,” you confirmed. “My training so far has come from different jobs.”

“Sorry honey, but that won’t get you a gun,” Garcia said. 

She stopped dead in her tracks, which caused you to almost run into her. Garcia merely stuck out her hand.

“I’m Penelope Garcia, by the way. Technical Analyst, genius extraordinaire,” she said. 

“Oh, I know,” you chuckled, but shook her hand anyways. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

She frowned. “How so?”

“Oh, Derek talked about you before my interview,” you quickly recovered. “I was nervous, so I asked if he could distract me. You were the first thing that came to his mind, I guess.”

She smiled widely. “My sweet, sweet boy,” she sighed blissfully, and continued walking.

Thank god Spencer told you all about Penelope and Derek’s flirty relationship. 

You followed Garcia into a room with a round table and a few TV screens close to the far wall. Almost all of the team was already sitting somewhere at the table. 

“Everyone, this is Y/N, the BAU’s newest beauty,” Penelope said. She patted your arm. “Take a seat, my dear.” 

You smiled shyly, sitting in the first empty chair. You ended up between Prentiss and Rossi. 

“Aren’t you supposed to start next week?” JJ asked curiously.

“Yes,” someone from behind you answered. Hotch walked into the room. “Plans changed. Garcia?”

Garcia picked up a remote on the table and pointed it to the screen. She began to hand out files. “So, this boy was found two hours ago in the middle of nowhere — well, technically he was found outside of Crawford, Arizona. My point is, he has clearly been to super hell and escaped some sort of captivity.”

“How do we know he wasn’t just dropped off?” Derek asked.

“He has fresh cuts on the bottom of his feet from the local cactus fields, and that's away from any through roads, and his skin is rubbed raw around his ankles from chains,” Garcia answered. She maintained her composure, but hints of disgust and sympathy showed through.

Derek nodded, looking at the photos in his file. “He must have had the chance to escape and took it.” 

“Or the UnSub could have had him in transit,” Emily purposed.

You looked at the photos of the boy. They were absolutely heartbreaking. The boy shied away from the camera — only one of them caught his face, which was covered in grime and framed by ungroomed hair. His clothes were tattered, and the skin he had showing was covered in scars. You couldn’t imagine what that sick bastard put this boy through for years.

“Look at the whites of his eyes — he’s jaundiced,” you observed. “He hasn’t seen Sun in… awhile. Garcia, have they figured out the boy’s age?” 

“They don’t even know his name,” Garcia said sadly. “He hasn’t spoken yet. They’re lucky they got the pictures they did.” 

“Are there any missing children in the area, Garcia?” Spencer chimed in.

“None until now, but Sir, you may have more information than I do?”

“I do. Earlier tonight another boy was reported missing in Flagstaff,” Hotch confirmed. 

“That’s not far — can’t be a coincidence,” JJ said.

“Technically it could, but Arizona has the lowest abduction rate in the country, so the chances of these cases not being related are ridiculously slim,” Spencer replied nonchalantly. 

“This is a child abduction case?” you asked, startled. “What do you need me for?”

“I’ll tell you on the jet. We need to get moving — every second is crucial. Wheels up in 15,” Hotch said, then dismissed himself from the room.

Per Spencer’s advice, you packed a go-bag the day you got a phone call saying you were accepted. He kept yours at his desk, ‘just in case’ you needed it before you had a desk of your own. You’d have to thank him for that later.

You learned on the plane ride that you’d be working with the boy who escaped. As Garcia briefly mentioned, local law enforcement and even hospital staff had yet to break ground with him. It would be yours and Spencer’s duty to change that. 

You wanted to ask why you were needed again, but the answer eventually came to you: Hotch, or someone else on the team, thought you’d bond with him. Considering they knew almost nothing about you, they probably thought you’d bond over trauma. 

A thorough background check is done on anyone and everyone that has even the slightest bit of interest in joining the FBI. You understood that. You accepted that. But you knew the hacking abilities Garcia was capable of, and thanks to Spencer, you knew how protective she was of the team. That woman probably dug up some of your darkest moments, put screenshots in an email, and sent it to her boss like it was an everyday occurrence. Hotchner probably knew everything you went through overseas: the good, the bad, and the ugly. 

He knew you’d find a way to connect with the survivor. 

Hotch gave you a change of clothes on the plane; it consisted of a black t-shirt with the FBI decal as the left chest logo and ‘Paramedic’ written in big, white letters on the back. He also gave you a navy blue bomber jacket that, in terms of lettering, looked exactly like your shirt. You decided to leave the jacket off when you went to the hospital.

“You can’t examine his scars?” Spencer asked as the two of you followed the survivor’s doctor down the hall. 

“I can’t get close enough,” he corrected. “He has the most severe case of CER I’ve ever seen.”

“Conditioned Emotional Response,” you and Spencer said simultaneously. 

The doctor turned around for a brief moment. “You guys did your homework,” he remarked. 

“People experience and impose conditioned emotional responses almost every day,” Spencer continued. “In normal settings, CER is emotional discipline, or cause and effect. For example, if someone develops a fear of dogs after being bitten by one, that fear is a conditioned emotional response. After years of abuse, trauma, or toture, CER can be worse than PTSD.”

“He’s afraid of light and sound,” The doctor agreed. “We’re keeping it as dark and quiet for him as possible. He’s also been somewhere crammed — his legs show signs of advanced arthritis.” 

“Any idea how old he is?” You asked.

“It’s hard to tell. He has major skin and tooth decay, probably caused by the massive vitamin D deficiency.”

The doctor stopped walking when the three of you came to a door that was guarded by a police officer. 

“Best guess?” you pushed.

He sighed. “Maybe sixteen.”

“Thank you,” you told him, and he nodded before walking off. 

Spencer flashed his badge to the police officer in front of the door, and just like that, the two of you were let in. You clicked a button on the wall beside the officer, which opened the room’s automatic door. You followed Spencer inside.

The blinds drawn shut, and all medical gear in the room was turned off. The bed was empty, and the food on the tray was left untouched. You scanned the room, and eventually, you found the boy — he was curled up under the table in the corner of the room. You pulled the curtain in front of the door shut before approaching him. 

“Hey,” you said softly, crouching down on your knees. You kept a decent distance. “My name is Y/N, and this is my friend, Spencer.”

Spencer crouched beside you, offering him a wave. “Hello.” 

He cowered away, trying to make himself smaller. 

“We’re the good guys,” you promised, then paused. “Is it okay if I hang out with you for awhile?”

He didn’t respond, which you fully expected. Asking to stay wasn’t a formal request of yours; mostly, you wanted to silently show that he was allowed to be in control of some things.

You looked up at the stand, which held a plate full of fruit, an energy drink, and a bottle of water. Everything appeared untouched. You turned back to the boy, then briefly stood up to grab the water. 

“You must be thirsty,” you said, crouching back down. “Want some water?” 

You extended your arm, offering him the bottle. He swatted it out of your hand and across the room before backing up into the corner again.

“Okay, it’s okay,” you said gently, backing away to give him some more space.

“This is years of conditioning,” Spencer murmured. “I’ll go tell Garcia to expand the search.”

“Good idea,” you agreed. 

Spencer walked out, and with that, it was just you and the boy. 

You picked up the water bottle and sat against the foot of the bed. You let silence fill the room, hoping your lack of sound and movement would assure him you were nothing to fear. 

After awhile, you reached into your pocket and pulled out a quarter. You began rolling it across your fingers, stopping when the coin was wedged between your pinkie and ring finger. Then, you started over, and rolled it across your fingers again. You’d been practicing the trick for awhile: basically since you and Spencer met. It wasn’t his ‘disappearing’ trick, but it was fairly easy to learn and execute.

You eventually looked up to see the boy staring at you. He was still under the table, but his body wasn’t facing the wall anymore. You smiled softly and rolled the quarter across the floor. 

The boy laid it flat on the ground.

“I know you’re scared,” you said quietly. “You were taken away from your home and put in a place you didn’t feel safe. You spent the first few days scared out of your mind, wondering when he was going to just get it over with and kill you. Eventually, though, you realized he didn’t want to kill you — you didn’t know what he wanted. That scared you even more.” 

He stared at the quarter, but you had a feeling he was listening to you, not just hearing you.

“I know you think he can still hurt you, that he’s standing right outside that door,” you continued. “He isn’t. And even if he was, he’d have to go through me before he could get to you. No way would I let that happen.” 

The boy picked up the quarter and looked at it. Then, he rolled it out from under the table, and back to you. 

You picked it up before it could hit the ground. A small smile crossed your face.

Slowly, over what you guessed was an hour, the boy made baby steps. Eventually, he began to move out from under the table. Once he sat across from you, no table or wall as his shield, you were able to turn on the overhead lights. He still had an aversion to sunlight, but you decided not to worry about that for the moment. 

You and the boy took turns with the coin, rolling it back to the other person when you were finished. You showed him a few hints and tricks on how to roll the quarter across his fingers, all without actually touching him. 

You caught movement in the corner of your eye. Spencer stood in the doorway.

The boy slowly scooted over. You stuck out your hand in reassurance. “It’s okay,” you promised. 

He sat still.

Spencer entered the room, taking a seat in the chair behind where you sat on the floor. 

“What did Garcia find out?” you asked Spencer. 

“She broadened her search, but there’s no one that matches his description,” Spencer replied, tone hushed. 

“Someone has to be missing this kid,” you said. 

Then, an alarm in the hallway went off.

The boy immediately scrambled across the floor, frantically making his way back under the table.

“No, no, no, that’s not for us,” you said, reaching out instinctively. “That’s for the doctors outside. It’s for the doctors, not us.”

Sure enough, an automated voice called ‘code blue’.

“It’s alright. It’s okay,” you said. 

He peeked his head out.

“It’s not for us,” you repeated. “Okay? You can come back out. I promise.”

He slowly made his way back over to you.

“There you go. That’s it,” you praised. You reached your hand out, holding the quarter. “Take it.” 

He took it quickly, covering it with his freehand.

“There you go.”

You sighed, turning your head to Spencer. “I got him to nod, but that’s about it.”

“And you asked him his name?” Spencer questioned.

You nodded. 

“Have you tried Spanish?”

“The language doesn’t matter if he won’t talk,” you spoke.

Spencer moved from the chair to the floor space beside you. “Mi nombre es Spencer,” Spencer said. “como te llama?”

Silence.

“What’s your name, sweetheart?” You asked gently.

Once again, nothing.

“Can I see what you have there?” Spencer asked, a small smile on his face.

The boy stuck out the coin.

“Wow. Do you like eagles?” He asked.

The boy pointed to the wings.

“Yeah, the wings are beautiful, aren’t they?” Spencer agreed.

He reached up and touched his back. He pointed to the wings again.

“Wings?” Spencer frowned. “You have… wings, on your back?”

It clicked in your brain. “Angel?”

The boy looked at you.

“Is your name Angel?” You asked. 

Angel smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> COMMENT! Comment, comment, comment! Idc if I sound needy!!! Comments fuel me! Comments make me want to write!
> 
> C O M M E N T


	4. Pulling Me Under

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title Song: [x](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-i6QfXbbV4s)

Eventually, you convinced Angel to move to the bed. You sat in the armchair while he sat on the edge of the bed, and overall, he seemed more comfortable. His legs were no longer close to his chest, and his body language expressed a certain amount of security. He wasn’t curled up into a ball, tucked away in the corner. Other than the fact that he had yet to speak, it was as if the two of you were having a normal, healthy discussion.

“There you go, bring it over,” you praised as Angel rolled the coin across his fingers. “You’re pretty good, Angel.”

He smiled, and you returned the expression.

“You should see my friend Spencer do coin tricks,” you continued as Angel started to roll the quarter over his fingers. “He’s basically a magician.” 

The door opened. You looked over your shoulder to see Angel’s doctor and a nurse enter.

“Hey Angel, the doctor’s here,” you said. “Do you want me to stay?”

The smile on his face faded, but he shook his head ‘no’.

“Okay. I’ll be right outside,” you told him before dismissing yourself from the room. 

Spencer was waiting right outside the door for you.

“Hey,” he greeted, smiling warmly. “How’s it going in there?”

“As well as one can hope,” you said. “What about you? Has Garcia figured anything out yet?” 

“She found the contact information for Angel’s mother,” Spencer replied. “Local law enforcement called; she said she’d be here soon.”

“That’s good,” you nodded.

“Really think so?”

You let out a breath. “It will be, eventually. I hope.” 

“I’ll go get us some coffee,” Spencer offered. “Sit down, take a break.” 

You grinned, wanting nothing more than to kiss or at least hug him. But you had a job to do, both of you. Blurring the lines at work, even in private, could be detrimental. So instead of kissing or hugging him, you bumped your shoulder against his. 

“A coffee sounds amazing.”

“So far, Samantha Allen is our best lead,” Spencer said, taking a sip of his coffee. “She’s the woman that came into the police station and said she saw a boy in chains when she was a child.”

The two of you sat in the floor’s lounge, taking a break while the doctor looked over Angel. 

“Jesus,” you muttered. “So her father is the suspect?”

Spencer nodded. “Emily helped her recover a few memories. They’re going to see if he gives her access to the basement.”

“Hopefully they find something,” you said. “Otherwise… we’re back at square one.” 

You tapped the edge of your coffee cup, pursing your lips.

“What’s wrong?” Spencer asked softly.

“Do you think Angel blames himself?” You said. 

Spencer briefly raised an eyebrow. “I did.”

You stopped mid-drink. “What?”

“When I was captured,” Spencer said. “I blamed myself.”

“When were you captured?” You asked, setting your coffee aside. It no longer seemed interesting.

“A case we were working on a few years ago,” he replied. “A man named Tobias Hankel kidnapped me after JJ and I split up to search his property.”

“You never told me that,” you whispered. You could feel your heart slowly fracture and shatter. 

He laughed sadly. “It never came up.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” you promised, taking his hand. Rules, courtesy, professionalism be damned. “Whatever he did, it wasn’t your fault. And if you ever want to talk about it, I’m here.”

He squeezed your hand. “I know.” 

Slowly, gradually, naturally, you let your grip falter until your hand was back in your lap. 

You looked up to see the doctor walking in the hallway. Frowning, you stood up and rushed over. 

“Hey, Doc?” you asked, catching up. “Am I good to go in?” 

He nodded. “If you want.”

You pressed the button to the door, stepping in after it automatically slid open. 

Angel now had his back turned to the door, hunched over. 

“Angel?” you asked curiously. “What’s going on, hon?”

He let out a small noise. You heard a soft, unmistakable sound: drops of blood hitting the floor. 

“Angel!” you shouted, rushing over. He shouted as well, but in agony, both physically and mentally. It broke your heart. “Angel, stop!”

Once reaching the bed, you grabbed both of his arms by the elbow and pulled them backwards. You didn’t stop pulling until his back was against your chest. You heard Spencer enter the room. 

“Spence, the call button,” you said, still holding Angel in a death grip.

Spencer scrambled to the remote on the bed, pressing the call button multiple times. Then, he came around the bed and got rid of the needle. 

“Get a towel,” you said, nodding towards the bin of supplies on the tray. “Get it on his wrist and apply pressure.”

From your quick visual inspection, Angel didn’t appear to hit any arteries or break any veins. His handiwork was messy, but shallow. 

“You’re okay,” you promised Angel, moving one arm across his shoulders and the other to his hair. “You’re safe, Angel. You’re okay.”

You stayed and watched as the doctor cleaned and examined the cuts. Angel managed to get a few good jabs in, but nothing would need stitches. He applied a few butterfly closures over the deeper cuts before putting gauze over Angel’s entire wrist and wrapping it in medical tape. 

You managed to convince Angel to not only let the doctor work on him, but to also allow him to administer a sedative and put an oxygen cannula in his nose. After awhile, the sedative kicked in and Angel fell asleep. You draped a few blankets over him and took a seat next to the bed.

You sat and watched him sleep for a bit, unsure what to make of it. It was strange to see a boy that was constantly on edge let his guard down completely. Rather than dwelling on it, though, you stood up, walked out of the room, and came back with a bowl of water and some towels. 

You started by washing his legs. You didn’t want to scare him off with any foreign smells, so you used only a cloth wet with water to clean his skin. Still, a decent amount of dirt came off. You had to change the water twice before moving past his legs. 

You cleaned only the skin you could see, making sure to not compromise his privacy nor his security blanket. He would stay in his clothes as long as he liked, and no one would tell him otherwise. If it was something he wanted to hold onto, you wouldn’t let anyone take that away. 

You washed from his face, down his arms, and to his hands. You scraped the dirt from under his nails gently, knowing the only way to get rid of the grime was a trim. For now, this would have to do. 

You set the soiled rag in your basin of cloudy water, moving to dump it into the skin. Once you pulled away from the bed, though, Angel grabbed your hand. You turned back to see his small, bony fingers wrapped over your palm. You took his grasp, running your thumb against the back of his hand.

“I’m right here, Angel,” you told him, returning to the chair by the bed. You pulled it closer, until your knees pressed against the frame. “I’m not going anywhere.”

You eventually got up to stretch your legs, and you ended up standing by the windowsill. Absentmindedly, you played with the dog tags hanging around your neck. It had been years since you wore regularly wore them, yet you hadn’t taken them off since your drive to Virginia. You felt like you had no reason to take them off yet.

You noticed Angel staring at you.

“Do you know what these are, Angel?” you asked.

He shook his head.

You approached the bed again. “They’re called dog tags,” you told him. “Soldiers wear them when they go into war. The idea was, if a soldier was injured or died on the battlefield, a comrade would take one of the tags off and bring it to their commander. The other is left on their body for easier identification.” 

You took a seat next to the bed.

“You went to war?”

You looked up in shock, eyes wide. Angel chuckled, and you did as well.

“I did,” you said. “I went to war, and it changed me forever. Just like what you through: it changed you. Angel, the man who took you took another boy. We need to find him. Can you help us?” 

Angel turned his head towards the window.

You closed your eyes, accepting the minor defeat. Eventually, though, you reached up and took of your dog tags.

“Angel?” you asked. 

He turned to look at you.

You held out the tags by the chain they hung on. “I want you to have these. They reminded me that, no matter what happened, I was a soldier. I was a survivor.”

Angel reached up, taking the tags into his palm. You moved your hand down to clasp his. 

“I don’t know the names of the men that hurt me,” you said quietly. “I was young, in a country I didn’t know. They spoke a language I didn’t understand. They hurt me, Angel, but the pain didn’t stop when they did. I did things like that to myself,” you told him, pointing to his wrist. “I thought that if I was supposed to be in constant pain, I should be the one to cause it, and if I died, so what? The pain would be over. But you know what, Angel? The pain wouldn’t be over. If I died, they would win. No fucking way do they get that. After everything they put me through, they don’t get to win.” 

You held his hand harder. “I want the man who hurt you to pay. I want to take away the one thing he values — freedom. But most importantly, I want to make sure no more little boys have to go through what you did. I want you to win. Can you help me?”

He nodded.

Someone stepped into the room. You turned around to see Spencer holding a tablet to his chest. He pointed it outwards so Angel could see. 

“Do any of these men look familiar?” Spencer asked.

Angel studied the four available pictures for a moment. After some consideration, he shook his head. “It was always too dark. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” you said quickly. “Don’t be sorry.”

You stepped out to get some fresh air, asking a nurse to take your place for a few minutes. Arizona’s heat was dry, so if you stayed in the shade, the breeze felt good. 

“You never told me,” Spencer said from behind you.

You turned around quickly upon hearing a disturbance, but relaxed when it was only him. “Never told you what?” 

“That you were captured.” 

“Oh, I wasn’t,” you replied simply, turning back around.

“You weren’t?” He asked, appearing by your side. 

“Empathy is one hell of a persuader,” you shrugged. “I figured if Angel thought I knew how he felt, he’d feel comfortable enough to confide in me.” 

“It’s dangerous to make up stories like that,” Spencer stated. His tone sounded neutral. “If you got caught in a lie, it could ruin not only the Bureau’s reputation, but in this case, the US Army’s reputation.”

“I’m sorry?”

“If a former soldier were to lie about being captured and tortured while deployed, they could face jail time,” Spencer said. “But, if the Army failed to secure a situation, and a combat medic was captured and tortured for information she didn’t have, it could ruin their reputation.”

Your face went blank. “What are you trying to say, Spencer?”

“I’m saying, if you ever want to talk, I’m here.” 

Spencer walked back into the hospital, leaving you alone to gather your thoughts.

  
_____________________

It turned out that J.B. Allen, Sam Allen’s father, gave her trophies after a boy from Arizona disappeared. Considering her dad’s behavior when she was growing up, along with her recovered memories, it was hard to accept that as a coincidence. The team raided his house, and after some redirection from Sam, they found Allen attempting to bury Billy Henderson alive. Overall, the case was considered a success. 

“Good work everyone,” Hotch praised as the team filtered back into the office. “Go home, get some sleep. I’ll see you back here tomorrow.”

There was an onslaught of tired goodnights. You, however, said nothing as Hotch climbed the stairs and retreated into his office. 

“Are you hungry?” Spencer asked you. “There’s a restaurant downtown open 24/7. They make amazing egg rolls.”

“Can I take a raincheck?” you replied. “There’s something I have to take care of.” 

“...sure,” Spencer answered. His answer was neutral, but his face told a different story.

“I could go for some late night chinese,” Emily chimed in. “What about you, Derek?”

Apparently, you and Spencer were doing an okay job of concealing your relationship.

“Count me in,” Derek replied. “JJ?”

“I’ve got my boys waiting for me at home,” JJ said. “Next time.” 

“Alright,” Derek said. He then looked at you. “Catch up with you later?”

You nodded, forcing a smile on your face. “Absolutely.” 

Derek grinned, then threw an arm around Spencer’s shoulders. “Alright, pretty boy: show us the way.” 

You began to ascend the staircase. You could feel Spencer take one last glance at you before he left with Emily and Derek. You chose not to turn around. 

When you got to Hotch’s office, you knocked on the already open door. 

“Y/N,” he stated, which you supposed was his idea of a greeting. “What can I do for you?” 

“Why did you assign me to this case?” You asked.

“Because it’s your job,” he stated plainly. 

“It’s my job to be a paramedic,” you said. “So why is it that, when you went to recover Billy Henderson, I was in a hospital room rather than on the field?” 

“Billy was in no immediate medical danger,” Hotch said. “You wouldn’t have been useful on the field.”

“You didn’t know if he would need help or not,” you countered. “Him being physically okay had nothing to do with the profile, with Allen, with… anything other than luck, really.”

Hotch stood up a bit straighter. “Is there something you’re trying to say, Y/N?”

You ran your hand down your face. Every instinct in your body was screaming at you, telling you to go with your gut and call him out. Your anxiety, however, warned you that, if you were wrong, you should kiss your job goodbye. 

You were a good soldier. So, you stuck with your guns.

“The US Government does an amazing job of covering its tracks,” you said. “I mean, sometimes, things fall through the cracks, but for the most part, what the government wants hidden, stays hidden. Project MKUltra, Camp Hero… no one knew until the government wanted them to know.”

“What’s your point?”

“My point is that you know something happened to me in Syria,” you said quietly. “You just don’t know the details. You know that, halfway through my tour, I was honorably discharged, and a small fortune appeared in my bank account. But no matter how much digging Garcia does, she can’t seem to come up with any answers.”

Hotch didn’t respond; he merely stared at you.

“Like I said: the government can cover its tracks,” you repeated. “Honestly, Agent Hotchner, I don’t care that you know. I don’t care that Garcia knows. I don’t care if you’ve made theories of what happened. All I care about is one thing: what do you want from me? Because after today, it doesn’t seem like I’m here to be a paramedic.”

Hotch took a seat at his desk. He gestured for you to sit across from him. Slowly, you entered the room and did just that. 

“I’ve known about your sudden discharge since before you were hired,” Hotch told you. “I reached out to several of your superiors to ask what happened and if it would affect your abilities. None of them disclosed what happened to you, but they all said the same thing: they’d take a bullet for you, but you’d take one for them first. They said no matter who you treated, you treated them with care. You managed to get along with everyone, even on the few occasions you had to treat enemy soldiers.”

You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding.

Hotch leaned forward. “I don’t care about what happened to you, Y/N, but I do care about this team. So let me ask you this: will the reason you got discharged ever negatively affect the BAU in any way?”

You immediately shook your head. “It’s done and over with.” 

“Then all I hope for is your success. I hope to see not only your skillset as a paramedic grow, but I hope you can eventually be hired as an SSA, maybe even as a profiler.”

“Then what’s up with all of this?” you asked, tugging at your t-shirt. It was a lighthearted break from the conversation, but you were also curious.

Hotch scoffed with a smile. “That would be the work of Erin Strauss,” Hotch said, confirming your suspicions. “She and the Director were hesitant in hiring you. They wanted to get the point across that were to help this team only as medical personnel.”

“Neither of them know what you assigned me to today, do they?” You inquired.

“Like you said: you spent the day in the hospital,” Hotch said. “That’s as medical as it gets, don’t you agree?”

You laughed softly. “Can’t argue with that.”

Hotch smiled smally. “Go home, Y/N. I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

“Yes sir,” you said, then stood up and walked to the door. “Hotch?” you said before leaving.

“Yes?”

“Thanks.”

  
_____________________

“Best Doctor?”

You licked your ice cream. “10, obviously.”

“Have you seen any episodes of the original series?” Spencer asked. 

“They’re not on Netflix,” you replied.

“Have you heard of a library?”

“Don’t get smart with me, you nerd!” you laughed, swatting his arm. “You should just be glad I’m into weird shit.”

The two of you were walking down a busy street that was lined with booths. Autumn was approaching, and apparently, Virginians took the season very seriously. It was only the end of September, yet there were already some fall festivals popping up. You invited Spencer to one that was close to campus.

“No one else on the team watches Doctor Who,” Spencer ceded. He took a lick from his own cone. 

“Exactly,” you agreed. “I watched it a lot after my dad died — it felt like every time I watched an episode, The Doctor swooped in and took me away from my troubles, at least for a little while.”

“I watched the original series with my mother growing up,” Spencer said. “We’d watch the American premiere times when she remembered.”

You smiled and stopped walking. You reached your free arm up and set it on his shoulder. “I guess we’re meant to be,” you said sweetly. 

“I suppose so,” he agreed with a smile.

Spencer leaned in for a kiss. You took it as an opportunity to lick his ice cream cone. 

“Oh, that is so unfair,” He laughed.

“What is that, maple nut?” you asked, licking your lips. “It’s good.” 

When you tried to pull away, Spencer slid a few fingers under the waistband of your jeans and pulled you back to him.

“Spencer!” You practically yelped. He’d never done something so bold, especially in public.

“What?” he asked innocently. Then, he took a lick from your cone. He let you go, a shit-eating grin on his face. “We’re even.” 

“Far from it,” you laughed. Still, you wrapped an arm around his waist.

Spencer pulled you against his side, kissing the top of your head. 

The two of you walked around for awhile, taking in the scenery and the other’s presence. You’d enjoyed the cases you worked on in the last couple of weeks, but you had to admit, nothing beat the alone time you spent with Spencer. Working with him was both humbling and enjoyable, yet the time you spent in his company and no one else’s was priceless.

You wondered if you’d ever be able to fully convey that to him. 

“Didn’t you give Angel your dog tags?” Spencer asked. 

You instinctively reached up and began to play with the tags around your neck. “I gave him the set I kept in my jeep.” 

“Why do you wear them?” He asked, this time, more gently.

“I don’t know,” you admitted. “They make me feel… safe, I guess.”

“Well, in that case…” Spencer said, pulling you closer, “...I hope one day, you stop wearing them.”

You smiled softly, sadly. “Me too.”

You had a feeling that day wouldn’t come for awhile.

  
_____________________

In the middle of your psych class, you got a 911 text from Hotch saying you needed to come in right away. Ever since taking the job, you left your phone at least on vibrate and checked every single message or notification you received. Your professors and classmates probably found it obsessive and/or annoying, but that didn’t matter to you. 

You stood up, quickly packing your materials into your backpack before slipping it on. 

“Miss… Y/N,” the professor said, taking a moment to remember your name. With probably 100 students in the class, you couldn’t blame him. Regardless of your name, he seemed far from pleased with you at the moment. “Is there somewhere more important you should be right now?”

“Actually, yes,” you replied bluntly. You walked behind the table and down the stairs. You were out the door before your professor could say anything else.

“Sorry I’m late,” you apologized as you entered the briefing room. You had to swing by your apartment to swap out your school bag for your go bag and change into your uniform. You still felt a little stupid in both your t-shirt and bomber jacket, but you figured eventually, you’d get used to it. “I was at school.”

“It’s your off day,” Hotch responded, which was as close to an ‘it’s fine’ as you were going to get. 

“What’s going on?” Morgan asked. 

“There was a child abduction in the Potomac Mills Mall,” Hotch said, passing out files. “The circumstances are eerily similar to an abduction exactly one week ago — the same type of girl was taken at the same time in the same place.”

“Did they find her?” you asked, opening your file. 

“They found her remains.”

“So we could have a serial killer on our hands,” Emily said. 

“We’re looking for a pattern,” Hotch said instead. “We’ll finish briefing in the car; Garcia, take what you need from your office. Y/L/N, swap your go bag out for a medi one.” 

“Yes sir,” the two of you replied simultaneously. 

One silver lining to joining the BAU? Even lecture days were exciting.

“What makes you sure Katie Jacobs is still In the building?”

“The mall's got cameras installed at every entrance and exit. Surveillance video confirms Katie entering the building, but no sign of her leaving.”

The mall had been in complete lockdown for almost 20 minutes, and already, everyone looked panicked. 

“Whoever killed Jessica Davis last week left that mall with her because he wanted time with his victim in privacy. Assuming it's the same offender, he wouldn't stray From his m.o.,” Spencer said. 

“So if Katie is still under this roof, so is her abductor,” JJ agreed.

“Garcia, report to the mall’s security office. Reid, Morgan, Y/L/N, find the head of security: we need all data from every search team,” he instructed. 

The three of you broke off to find security staff that could point you in the right direction.

“117 stores, 69 storage closets, 73 dressing rooms, 6 men’s rooms, 6 ladies’ rooms, access to the roof via the north and south stairwell, 7 restaurants — each with a separate kitchen —, and 4 elevators,” the head of security said. She pointed to each on the map, which was spread onto a table the 4 of you surrounded.

“Every team is going to need a copy of this,” Derek said. 

After scanning the blueprints and printing countless copies, officers began to hand them around. Meanwhile, Derek and Spencer studied the original plan. 

“Well, aside from the stairwells, storage closets, and hundreds of shops, there's a whole underbelly beneath our feet — Subterranean level, Air ducts, boiler rooms,” Derek said.

“Realistically, it’ll take at least… 3 hours to cover this place,” the head of security said. 

“Realistically, we have less than half that time,” Derek countered.

“How do you figure?” She frowned.

“99% of abducted children who are killed die within the first 24 hours, 75% within the first 3 hours, and when law enforcement knows, Jessica Davis joined the 44% of children who are abducted and killed within the first hour,” Spencer explained. 

Derek’s phone rang. “Yeah, what do you got?” He asked before stepping away. 

You tugged Spencer’s sleeve. He followed you when you stepped away from the table. 

“You think she has a shot?” You asked in a low voice. 

For the first time since you met him, Spencer Reid was speechless. 

“Your tech analyst found Katie’s last known location,” the head of security interjected.

“Take us there,” you replied instantly.

“So she and her cousin came in here about 30 minutes ago, and that was the last time anyone saw Katie?” Spencer asked, stepping into the arcade. You and Derek followed.

“That’s right,” the head of security confirmed.

“10 minutes after the assault is generally the molester’s lowest point of self-esteem,” Spencer stated. 

“He could he panicking right now, realizing he left a witness,” Derek added. 

“Richard Allen Davis strangled Polly Klaas just to prevent her from identifying him.”

“That’s… grim,” you muttered under your breath.

A single abduction like this would normally be classified as a snatch-and-grab, but with the Jessica Davis abduction, It's more likely we're dealing with a preferential offender,” Derek said.

“Whose victims fall into a particular type,” Spencer agreed. “He came to this mall knowing what he was looking for, because he feels safe here, familiar with his surroundings.”

“If this was some normal guy, we’d have found Katie by now,” you thought aloud. “The UnSub is hiding her, and it has to be somewhere no one would think to look.” 

“Only former and current employees would have knowledge that intimate,” Spencer stated.

You nodded. “Exactly.”

“We need to talk to her cousin,” Derek said.

You pulled a chair out, taking a seat Jeremy, Katie’s cousin.

“Hi, Jeremy,” you said warmly. “I’m Y/N. I asked your parents if me and my friends could speak to you privately. Is that okay?”

“My dad thinks it’s my fault,” Jeremy said, obviously upset.

“No, he doesn’t,” you promised. “When people are in stressful situations like this, they say things they don’t really mean.” 

Derek leaned forward. “Hey, kid.”

Jeremy looked up.

“The moments right before a kidnapping like this are the most important,” Derek told him. “You’ve got to understand you’re the only one who can help us with that.” 

“But I… I can’t remember.”

“Jeremy,” Spencer said, voice gentle, “all we need is the last thing Katie said or did before you realized she was gone.” 

He began to shake his head. The movement started slow, but as Jeremy’s breaths grew shorter, the shaking quickened.

“Jeremy?” Derek asked. “What’s going on?”

Jeremy stood up, but his posture was slouched. He tried grabbing for his chest. “Can’t… breathe…”

“He’s having a panic attack,” you said, standing up. You set a hand on his shoulder. “Sit down, honey. You’re okay.”

Slowly and shakily, he listened. You crouched down beside him once he was in the chair. 

“Put your head between your legs,” you instructed in a soft, calm voice. You took one of his hands and set the other on his neck. 

Once again, Jeremy slowly but surely listened to you. You patted the back of his head, assuring him you were there and that he was safe.

You looked between Spencer and Derek. Whatever Jeremy saw, he didn’t want to remember.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a thing for the kid cases. Sue me.
> 
> This fic is becoming wayyyy longer than I ever thought it would, but I'm glad to see people are actually enjoying it! If you like this story, please, _ please _ let me know; i lose interest in writing when readers don't respond. 
> 
> Until next time... xx


	5. Deep End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry. 
> 
> Title Song: [x](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Tjr7YxpbuOg)

“I’m gonna ask you to close your eyes for a minute, all right?” 

The four of you stood in the arcade, Jeremy in front of his favorite machine. It was the one he was playing before Katie disappeared. 

Jeremy looked over to you. You smiled and nodded slightly. 

Jeremy closed his eyes and faced the game. 

“I want you to go back to when you first walked into the arcade earlier,” Derek asked. “Can you remember that?” 

“You’re doing great, my man,” Derek assured. “In your mind, I want you to try to picture what it sounded like in here. Picture what it smelled like. Was it crowded?”

“It was loud,” Jeremy said. 

“Were the people loud, or were the sound effects loud?” Spencer asked.

“Both,” he replied. “Some kid was yelling at his game. When I started playing, Katie started crying, said she wanted to go find her mom.”

“Do you remember what she was crying about?” Spencer said.

Jeremy, eyes still closed, shook his head. “It was too loud.”

“Okay, Jeremy, go back to your game,” Derek instructed. 

A small smile appeared on the boy’s face. “I was winning.”

“How did that make you feel?”

“Awesome. Proud of myself. Kind of embarrassed,” Jeremy said. He began to bite at his cheek. 

“Why were you self-conscious? Who was watching you?” 

“I could smell her shampoo.”

The three of you shared a look. 

“Katie’s?” you asked softly.

He shook his head again. “I talked to her for one second… and then Katie was gone.”

“Did she say anything before she disappeared?” You asked. 

“She said she wanted ice cream.”

Jeremy bit the inside of his cheek again. You looked to Spencer.

“Anything else?” Spencer asked gently. 

“No,” Jeremy replied.

  
_____________________

“What do you think he’s not telling us?” You asked, taking a sip of coffee from your disposable cup. You stole some from the security office for you and Spencer.

“I don’t know,” Spencer admitted. “I think he’s protecting someone.”

The two of you sat at a small table in the mall’s breakroom. You returned Jeremy to his parents, and Derek was called away by Hotch. You weren’t supposed to leave the mall until Katie was found, being a paramedic and all. Spencer hadn’t been assigned anything else, so you and him spent your time occupying each other. 

“Probably,” you agreed, “but who?” 

Spencer shrugged.

Derek approached the two of you. 

“They found Katie’s necklace in a trash can,” Derek said as he entered the room.

You sat up; you didn’t realize your feet were in Spencer’s lap until that second. 

“Why throw away a girl’s necklace?” You asked.

“It wasn’t just thrown away — it was ripped off of her,” Derek replied. “Not to mention that it’s made of real gold.”

You raised your eyebrows in disbelief.

“Who gave it to her?” Spencer asked.

“Parents say she found it on a playground.”

“No way,” you shook your head. “Someone would know if they lost a necklace like that.” 

“Katie’s parents gave us permission to search the house,” Derek said, looking at Spencer.

Spencer turned to you.

You smiled encouragingly. “You should go, make sure Morgan doesn’t miss anything.” 

“Oh, new girl’s got sass,” Derek teased. “I’ll get you back for that one, Y/L/N.”

“I’ll hold you to it,” you said sweetly, raising your glass in his direction. 

The boys left, leaving you alone. You used the chair Spencer sat in as a footrest, leaning back. You hoped to clear your mind, but no matter what, your thoughts seemed to race. 

Why would the UnSub rip the necklace off of Katie? It’s an irrelevant detail to a stranger. Ripping off the necklace was personal. If it was personal, Katie knew the UnSub, but she either trusted them or was too afraid to say anything. 

You stood up, walking out of the breakroom. You found your way back to the security office. 

“Hey, Garcia?” you asked, sitting on the table beside her. 

“Yes, my love?” She asked, busy typing away on the computer. 

“Can you do me a favor?”

  
_____________________

“What’s going on?” Jeremy asked. “Why are we here?”

“I don’t know,” you said honestly.

Derek had called you a few minutes ago, telling you to swing by the food court and find a place for you and Jeremy to be alone. You had yet to figure out why.

You looked up to see Spencer standing outside of the room. 

“I’ll be right back, okay Jeremy?” you said, standing up. You patted his shoulder on your way out. 

“Derek thinks Katie is being molested,” Spencer said the moment you closed the door behind you. “She’s been wetting the bed, and her Barbie looks… disturbing.”

“In that case, the necklace makes sense,” you said. “It’s not uncommon for abusers to buy their victims gifts.”

“...Jeremy stole a pair of earrings 6 months ago.”

You frowned, then immediately shook your head. “It’s not him.”

“You don’t know that, Y/N,” Spencer said quietly.

“I do,” you insisted. “How can a 13-year-old boy know where to hide her? This mall is massive, but most of it has been searched. We would have found Katie by now if Jeremy was the one hiding her.” 

“We’re interviewing the father now,” Spencer continued, as if he heard nothing of what you just said. “Hotch asked me to speak with Jeremy.”

“Okay,” you said, laughing softly. “You can go in, Spencer. Go do your job.” 

He nodded, then stepped into the room. 

You could faintly hear what the two of them were talking about, but for the most part, you were swimming in your own thoughts. You bit at your nails occasionally, hoping and praying that Garcia would get back to you soon. You had a gut feeling, and your gut has never been wrong before. You refused to believe today was the exception.

Your phone rang. You picked it up before the first ring finished playing out. 

“You hit it right on the head, my dear — Susan Jacobs quit her job at the Potomac Mills Mall a little over two years ago. She worked at a local clothing boutique, then in a furniture store, then a jewelry shop before ultimately quitting.” 

“And all of those jobs were within the mall?” you asked. 

“Indeed it was,” Garcia confirmed. 

“That woman must know this place like the back of her hand,” you muttered. “Garcia, thank you,” you said, then hung up. You immediately called Emily.

“You need to talk to the aunt,” you said, neglecting to even greet her. “She worked three different jobs in this mall less than 3 years ago.” 

The line was silent for a second as she processed. “She’d have the layout of the building memorized at that point,” Emily said.

“Not to mention any reservations that have been done,” you agreed.

“Meet me in the food court,” she said before hanging up.

  
_____________________

“You and Richard have been separated for months,” Emily stated. “Why else didn’t you realize he hasn’t smoked in over a month? He has no use for a new lighter.” 

“We’ve been trying to work things out,” Susan said calmly, but already, her composure was breaking. 

“Did you really believe that getting rid of that little girl would take away his sickness?” Emily asked.

“You’re not making a bit of sense.”

“Did it occur to you last week after you heard a little girl was snatched from the local mall, and she was found dead three days later?”

Susan didn’t respond.

“Do you know what having an asthma attack feels like, Susan?” you asked.

She shook her head slowly. 

“It’s like…” you approached her, leaning forward, effectively invading her personal space. “It’s like someone has their hands around your throat,” you said, reaching your hands up. You obviously weren’t allowed to touch her, but you put your hands in a position that could effectively strangle someone. “It’s like someone is pushing on your throat,” you moved your hands closer, “harder, and harder, and harder. Your lungs feel like they’re on fire. Your throat burns with each breath. But no matter what, you can’t seem to get enough air in, and that’s when you breathe out of your mouth. Do you know what happens when you can’t, because it’s covered with duct tape? You can die.”

“This wasn’t supposed to happen to my family,” she whispered. 

“What wasn’t?!” you shouted, standing up quickly. “You weren’t supposed to abduct your niece? Of course you weren’t! But that’s not it, is it? No, you weren’t supposed to marry a perv.”

“Stop,” Susan said, a few tears streaming down her face.

“Your husband isn’t supposed to prey on children that are vulnerable, scared, alone, confused. Your husband isn’t supposed to be an animal. But you know what, Susan? He is. And you’re protecting him. You’re protecting an animal rather than your own fucking family.”

“Please, don’t,” she begged.

“You seriously thought getting rid of Katie would fix him?” you pressed. “You thought killing an innocent girl would fix your broken marriage? Your husband is sick; Richard is a monster. And there’s nothing you can do to change that.” 

“No, no, no,” Susan muttered.

“You robbed Katie from her childhood!” you screamed. “Are you gonna steal the rest of her life too?!”

“Enough!” Susan sobbed.

You leaned in close, making it so she had no choice but to look at you. “Where. Is. She,” you said in a low, demanding tone.

Susan wiped a few tears away. She cleared her throat. She looked down.

“They renovated the basement before I left,” She said, so quietly you almost couldn’t hear. “She’s in a cupboard in the seasonal storage closet.” 

You bolted out of the room, grabbing your medi bag as you went.

“Derek!? Hotch!?” you shouted as you ran down the steps. 

“In here!” Derek shouted. 

You followed the sound of his voice and ended up where Susan told you Katie was.

“She’s in one of these cupboards!” you called, rushing to the first cupboard you saw. You began slamming every door open.

In the very last one laid a little girl in pigtails, bound and gagged with duct tape over her mouth. 

“I got her! I found her!” you shouted as loudly as you could. 

You put one arm under her shoulders and the other under her knees. You laid her flat on the floor and removed the tape from her mouth. You dropped your medi bag to your side, unzipping the corner pocket and pulling out an exacto knife. You cut through the ropes around her hands and ankles. 

You put your first two fingers over her carotid. Nothing. You put the stethoscope around you neck in your ears and pressed the bell to her chest. You watched and listened for movement. Also nothing. 

You maneuvered yourself to be directly over Katie and began compressions. Countless officers were swarmed around you, and it took you a moment to realize Derek and Hotch were crouched beside you.

“Get out the AED — it’s in the big pocket,” you instructed, mentally counting compressions. “There’s a pediatric CPR mask and a pair of scissors in the front pocket.” 

Derek scrambled to get the supplies, setting up the defibrillator to the best of his knowledge. 

“I need the scissors,” you instructed reaching a hand out. 

Once they were handed to you, you quickly cut through Katie’s shirt to expose her chest. You grabbed the defib pads, sticking one underneath her right collarbone and the other at the bottom of her left rib cage. You pressed a few buttons on the AED, then raised your hands in the air.

“Clear!” you shouted, though you doubted anyone else was touching her. The AED administered a shock, but she was still flatlining. 

You began manual compressions again, stopping after 15 to administer two rescue breaths. The automatic voice on the AED warned everyone to clear, beeped a few times, then shocked Katie again. Still, nothing.

“Come on, sweetheart,” you mumbled, once again beginning compressions. “Come back.” 

By then, Katie’s parents were in the room, and her mother was wailing and begging. You could hardly hear her. You were running off of adrenaline and instinct only; the rest of the world didn’t matter. All that mattered was saving her. 

You administered a breath, then another. The AED warned for another shock. It shocked her.

The heart monitor began beeping. 

Katie took a deep breath and began coughing.

The whole room seemed to breathe a sigh of relief.

You took the mask off her face, rolling her to her side and rubbing her back. “Welcome back, honey,” you cooed, a smile on your face. 

You reached into your medi bag, pulling out the small tank of oxygen. You rummaged around in the front pocket, coming up with a pediatric oxygen mask. You unwrapped it, straightened the tube, and connected the mask to the tank. Derek helped lift her head so you could slip it on. 

Katie was still coughing, but after a few fits, she began sucking in the air. You moved to the side, taking off your jacket and laying it over her to give her back some privacy.

Her parents rushed over, sobbing with relief. You stood up and stepped to the side so they could have a moment. 

You wiped some sweat off your forehead, taking a deep breath. You looked up to see Spencer standing in the doorway. He smiled.

You smiled back.

  
_____________________

“Thank you.”

You furrowed your eyebrows, but smiled. “For what?”

“For letting me,” Spencer said.

You untucked a corner of your bed, throwing back the sheets. You then turned around and began digging through your wardrobe.

“Letting you do what?”

Spencer took a seat on the other side of the bed. “For letting me talk to Jeremy. You trust your instincts more than anything, but today, you trusted me too. Thank you.” 

“Of course I trust you,” you said, almost shrugging it off. You laughed to yourself. “Spencer, I love you, but sometimes, you have no choice but to do the job. I get that. Believe me, I get that.” 

You quickly changed into your version of pajamas (which was a plain t-shirt and a pair of boyshorts) before crawling under the covers and joining Spencer. You turned off the light on your nightstand before curling up against him, your face tucked into his neck.

“Hey, Y/N?” Spencer asked, voice soft. You felt the words rumble through his chest, vibrate against your face. It made you smile.

“Yeah, Spence?” 

“I love you too.”

You froze for a moment, wondering why he said ‘too’ rather than a simple ‘I love you’. It took you a second to realize you had, in fact, said you loved him. You relaxed, though, when you realized it didn’t feel wrong.

In fact, in felt pretty damn right.

  
_____________________

Dorado Falls. 

You never thought two words that were so irrelevant to you could affect you so greatly.

It was an interesting case — a former Navy SEAL was experiencing a psychotic break due to both his PTSD and a car crash he was in. The break caused something called Capgras Syndrome, or a mental disorder that makes someone think people in their lives were replaced by imposters. According to Spencer, Capgras Syndrome rarely made people homicidal; it was simply Luke Dolan’s past that made him able to kill without a second thought. In fact, he killed both his former team leader and parents because of the tricks his mind was playing on him. Had the BAU not intervened, he would have killed both his wife and daughter.

Of course, the BAU did intervene. Unfortunately, this lead Dolan to believe they had been kidnapped, so he ended up taking a hostage of his own in an attempt to exchange with the Bureau. Rossi talked to him over the phone, and Garcia managed to triangulate his call. The warehouse the call came from had the man he captured, but there was no sign of Dolan.

That is, until he pressed the barrel of his submachine gun to the back of your head. 

“I want my wife and my daughter,” he said calmly. “If I don’t see them in three minutes, the girl dies.” 

You took in a deep breath, closing your eyes. 

“No one is seeking revenge here,” Rossi said calmly. “You’ve created this conspiracy in your own mind.”

“You took my family,” Dolan argued. He pressed the barrel harder against your head.

“We took them to protect them from you,” Spencer said, swallowing nervously. “Let her go, and we can talk about it.”

Dolan didn’t budge.

“You want to know what’s going on?” Spencer asked, stepping forward. “You were in a car accident three nights ago, and you suffered a head trauma.”

“If I don’t see Jenna and Ally right now…” Dolan said, “...she dies.” 

Your mind shut down after that. You thought you heard someone over the intercom, but the only real thing you could hear was ringing. Loud, high-pitched ringing, like a bomb had gone off right next to your head. 

“You have one minute,” Dolan said, once again pressing the barrel to your head. 

It felt like it took hours for Dolan to finally set the gun down. Derek swooped into handcuff Dolan, gently nudging you forward. 

You couldn’t move.

You saw Spencer approach you, looking into your eyes and setting his hands on your arms. You could see his lips moving; he was asking you something, probably if you were okay. You couldn’t formulate a response. You felt a tear slip down your face, but it wasn’t the dam breaking. In fact, it was only the start of the storm. 

You crouched to the floor silently, clasping your hands over your ears as you brought your knees to your chest. You curled yourself into a tight ball, pulling at the hair above your ears.

“Please, let me help him,” you whispered, tears rolling down your face. “Just let me help him…”

_“Let me help him!” you shouted, fighting the chains that bound your hands above your head. “Please, let me help him!” _

_It was dark, and dirty, and it smelled like piss and shit. You weren’t supposed to be here. You were never supposed to end up here. Neither was he._

_“Please, I’ll tell you whatever you want to know!” you begged, thrashing. “Let me down so I can help him! Please!” _

“Please!” you shouted, clothes drenched in sweat as you thrashed around. “Please, let me down! Let me help!”

“Y/N!” Spencer called for you, brushing back some of your hair.

You sat straight up, panting heavily. Your heart was racing, and your mind was foggy. It felt like you had just ran a marathon.

“It’s okay,” Spencer promised, setting a hand on your shoulder. “You’re safe. I promise.” 

You got out of bed, walking through your apartment until you reached the living room. You slid open the glass door and stepped onto the porch.

It had been getting colder for awhile now; most of the trees were bare, and by 10PM, it was getting close to freezing. You guessed it was somewhere around three in the morning when you went outside. You didn’t go back in until the Sun began to show.

The more nightmares you had, the less time you spent with Spencer.

It was a gradual practice; you stopped going over to his apartment unannounced. You stopped inviting him over after a case. You stopped making plans with him on your off-days. You spent more time working and studying then you did with him. It was concerningly easy to distract yourself, at least from Spencer Reid. 

You eventually stopped attending classes altogether. You lied to your professors, saying the BAU needed you more than you realized. They of course understood and accepted the news without further questioning. You used the newfound freetime to work as an on-call paramedic for local EMS. Between being on-call, schoolwork, and the BAU, you had no time for yourself, let alone someone else. 

That was exactly how you wanted it.

A case popped up in Florida. It seemed pretty run-of-the-mill in terms of victimology: young, beautiful women. The only strange thing was the UnSub didn’t seem to have a racial preference.

The team put out a profile relatively quickly. They determined the UnSub would be middle-aged, successful, a family man and most likely known by the community. He was the kind of person you’d least expect. Of course, there was more than a handful of successful family men in Atlanta, but eventually, the team and local law enforcement were able to narrow it down. 

The lead detective on the case got restless and arrested a suspect prematurely. William Harris was in the eyes of the BAU, but no one made a move because there wasn’t enough evidence to arrest him yet. Now, with Harris in custody and less than 12 hours until he walks free, the team was working to find the evidence needed to keep him in custody.

“Y/N,” Hotch said, drawing you out of your daydream and back into reality. “You’re pursuing a minor in English, correct?”

You nodded. 

“Garcia found something on Harris’s computer,” Hotch said. “Go find Reid, see if you can help him.”

You nodded again, this time, more stiffly. “Yes sir,” you said, before dismissing yourself.

You wondered if Spencer had anything to do with that. 

You eventually found Spencer working in a corner of the police station. He already had 3 different boards behind him, two of which were whiteboards, one of them a corkboard. His back was turned to you as he pinned pieces of paper to the corkboard. 

A part of you wanted to say that it would be much easier if he just got over his aversion to technology already. 

“Hotch told me to find you,” you said instead.

He glanced over his shoulder. “Hey,” he said. It seemed like he wanted to say something else.

“Do you need some help?” You asked, approaching the board.

“Uh, Garcia found an untraceable blog on Harris’s computer,” he explained. “I’m going over the entries.”

You looked over the papers he already had pinned. Frowning, you began to notice a few inconsistencies. 

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but don’t authors generally stick to using either dashes or ellipses?” you asked. 

“That’s right,” he confirmed. “Why?” 

You picked up a marker and began to highlight a few things. “There’s an equal number of both,” you said, mostly to yourself. “And here — the guy who uses dashes? He calls soda ‘pop’, but the other one calls it ‘soda’.”

“Dashes versus ellipses is almost entirely a style choice, but pop versus soda is regional,” Spencer agreed.

“‘Pop’ is a midwestern thing,” you said. “Isn’t Harris from Ohio?”

Spencer nodded in confirmation. “So the real question is… who’s the other writer?”

You and Spencer worked on the blog posts, pointing out the inconsistencies and the different voices each author used. Of course, Spencer was a lot faster than you were — you suspected he slowed down, at least physically, so you didn’t feel left behind. You appreciated the thought.

“Are you okay?” he asked after a while.

You felt your body stiffen. You cleared your throat in an attempt to recover. “Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You’ve been acting weird the last few weeks. Is something going on?” 

You shook your head but refused to look at him. “Nothing’s going on.” 

“Okay,” he said. “It’s just weird for you to miss date night. I thought I’d ask.”

You set down your marker and grabbed Spencer’s arm. You pulled him across the bullpen, down a hallway, and into an empty room. 

“Don’t,” you said right after closing the door. “Don’t do this. Not here.”

“I just want to know if you’re okay,” he persisted. “After what happened with Dolan…”

“I said I’m fine,” you repeated. “Please, don’t mix… us with work.” 

“I’m not!” Spencer argued. “I’m checking in on a friend. I love you, Y/N, and it hurts me to know that you’re hurting.” 

“No you don’t,” you muttered.

“...What?”

“No you don’t,” you said louder, but your voice was fragile. “You don’t love me.” 

“What do you mean?” He said, taking a step forward. “Of course I do.”

“Spencer, you don’t know me,” you said, tears forming in your eyes. “We laugh, and we have fun, and we have a good time. But you don’t know anything about me, and honestly, I don’t know anything about you. All I am is a girl you met in Colorado and couldn’t seem to shake.” 

“Why are you doing this?” he asked. The tone of his voice was enough to make a few tears fall onto your cheeks.

“Doing what?” you whispered.

“Invalidating everything we’ve been through,” Spencer said. “Invalidating me… invalidating us, Y/N? I don’t understand.”

“We spent a week in Vegas and we tricked ourselves into thinking we’re soulmates,” you said, smiling sadly. “That’s on me. And I’m sorry. But we’re not in love.”

He stepped closer to you. “That week is the best thing that ever happened to me.”

It killed you, but you took a step back. “We’re strangers,” you whispered. “We don’t know each other's favorite color, what elementary schools we went to, why we felt a calling to our jobs… We don’t know anything, Spencer. At least, I don’t.”

“Whatever happened, we can figure it out,” Spencer said. “I can help you, Y/N! You just have to let me in.”

“No one can help me,” you said, sucking in a breath to avoid a sob. You closed your eyes and wiped your cheeks feverishly. “I’ll give you back your things when we’re back in Virginia.”

“Y/N…”

“I’m sorry, Spencer,” you said. “I just… can’t.” 

You walked out without taking a look back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sure for a lot of you, this is your first fic of mine that you're reading, and in that case... I apologize. This is kind of my thing, lol. 
> 
> If you like this story, please let me know! I'm only interested in writing when people are interested in reading <3


	6. The Enemy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _italics_ = flashbacks
> 
> Title Song: [x](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3hA67tm4sTI)

_“What are you afraid of?”_

_You looked up. Spencer was laying beside you, his arms crossed over his chest as he laid on his side. You had one hand under your head, the other resting on the mattress in the space between you and him._

_“Jean shorts,” you said in a faux scared voice. “And crocs. And when you put them together…” You shuddered._

_Spencer scoffed with a smile, which made you giggle. _

_“Come on,” he pressed. “You served in the military. You lost a parent. You got deployed, and you came back alive. What scares you?”_

_You sighed in consideration._

_Fear was something you hadn’t thought about in awhile. Loss, yes. Loneliness, absolutely. Anger passed your mind once or twice. But fear? You couldn’t remember the last time you were afraid for yourself._

_“Getting attached,” you answered quietly. “I’m afraid of commitment. Well, not actually. I’m afraid of losing the people I love. It got worse when my dad died, but, I don’t know… I think it’s always been there.”_

_“How do you deal with it?”_

_“I don’t love. I care, I feel, I consider. But I try my hardest not to love anything, because if I lose it, it doesn’t hurt as bad.” _

_“You can’t just decide to not love,” Spencer argued softly._

_You smiled sadly. “You’d be surprised what I do to keep myself safe.”_

_“You mean to keep yourself from hurting?”_

_You shrugged. “Same thing.” _

  
_____________________

You stepped out of the room, wiping your eyes and sucking in a breath. You wandered back down a few of the station’s hallways, eventually finding Hotch. He dismissed the officer he was speaking to. 

“What’s going on?” He asked as he approached you.

“I’m just slowing Spencer down,” you lied, forcing out a laugh. “Ya know, photographic memory and all. I was wondering if I would be more useful somewhere else?” 

Hotch studied you for a moment, then nodded slowly. “You can observe the interrogation. You’ll be sent to the field if Missy Dewald shows up.” 

“You mean if her body shows up?”

“We don’t know how Harris’s partner will react to the news of his betrayal,” Hotch said. “It’s possible that he lets Dewald go in an act of defiance.”

“It’s also possible that he kills her a lot sooner than any of the other girls.”

“That is a possibility,” Hotch replied, before dismissing himself. 

You ran a hand through your hair. Cases like this sucked.

“That’s her,” The detective said. “That’s Missy Dewald. I looked her father in the eye and told him I’d find her alive.” 

She looked identical to all the other victims: young, conventionally attractive, and strangled to death. Missy also had ligature marks around her wrists, which was seen on Harris’s other victims. What wasn’t seen, however, was the bite mark on her shoulder. 

“So in the time we’ve been here, she went missing and turned up dead,” Emily thought aloud. “Do you think Harris dumped the body before he was taken into custody?”

Rossi shook his head. “The M.E. says she’s been dead for several hours.”

“Harris has been in custody for the last several hours,” you said, pointing out the obvious.

“So you think we have the wrong guy?” The detective asked.

“He’s communicating with someone,” Derek said instead. “He’s confident they won’t turn against him.”

“Like an affair?”

“Like a partner,” Derek corrected. 

“The only way we can break ground with Harris is to find out who his partner is,” you said.

Derek nodded in agreement. “Let’s go break some ground, then.”

You followed him back to the SUV; Emily and Rossi were staying behind to collect evidence. While getting into the vehicle and pulling onto the road, you were quiet.

“Hopefully Reid knows more by the time we get back,” He said conversationally.

You nodded.

“Hey, are you okay?” Derek asked. His tone was questioning, but a hint of worry seeped through.

You faked a smile. “Why wouldn’t I be?” 

“Normally, you jump at the idea of working with Spencer,” he said. “But today, you looked for a reason not to. Why is that?”

“I’m not useful to him today,” you said nonchalantly. “His brain works faster than mine.” 

“That’s never stopped you before,” he chuckled. 

Derek glanced over. You said nothing. He sighed.

“Look, I’m not supposed to tell you this, but… He likes you.”

You raised your eyebrows in feign surprise. “He told you that?”

“He didn’t have to,” Derek replied. “I know that kid better than he knows himself sometimes.”

You actually snorted. You highly doubted the authenticity of that claim. 

“Come on, don’t act like you don’t like him too,” Derek chuckled. “We all see the way you two interact. There’s something going on.”

‘You have no idea’, you thought bitterly.

“Even if I wanted to, it’s not like I could do anything about it,” you mumbled. “Dating someone on the team is considered a conflict of interest.” 

“Like rules ever stopped you,” he teased.

“Look, can you drop it?” you snapped. “We’re not in middle school — we’re grown-ass adults with grown-ass feelings and problems.” You closed your eyes and sighed in embarrassment. “I’m sorry, Derek. I shouldn’t have snapped. It’s been a rough couple of days, and I’m… I’m sorry.” 

“Nolan?” Derek asked simply, gently.

“Yeah,” you agreed, then looked out your window. If only it were that simple.

“You know we’ve got your back, right Y/N?” Derek said. “We never would have let anything happen to you.” 

“I know,” you agreed. “That’s not what’s bothering me.”

“Then what is?”

You turned back to look at him, a sad smile on your face. “I spent 18 months in an active war zone. I watched men be turned to nothing but pulp by IEDs. But that’s not even the worst part. The worst part was treated Syrian children who got caught in the crossfire. They came in on the brink of death, and they left on crutches, missing one or both legs. They were nothing but collateral damage to men who couldn’t seem to agree. It’s such bullshit.”

“Did Nolan bring it all back up?”

“Him among other things,” you said.

“If you ever want to talk about it, I’m all ears,” Derek promised.

“Thanks.”

“His partner is a biter,” Rossi said, showing the crime scene photos to Reid.

“They’ve never done that before,” Spencer said, observing the red teeth marks on Missy Dewald. 

“He might be going back to what’s comfortable now that Harris isn’t around,” Rossi agreed.

“So you think he’s a repeat offender?” you asked, unable to help yourself.

Spencer briefly looked up at you, then cleared his throat. “It’s possible. Garcia should run dental records, see if the mark matches anything on-file.” 

“I’ll get on that,” you said, silently dismissing yourself from the conversation.

“Turns out, there’s a lot of sick pups in Central Florida,” Penelope said through the phone. “Today’s marks don’t match William Harris, but they do match a rape that was reported earlier this year in Manatee County.”

“That’s great; you found a match,” Emily said.

“Yeah, the teeth belong to the same person, but they’ve never been arrested, so I can’t cross reference,” Garcia said.

“What about the victim?” Hotch asked.

“Connie Meyers — she still lives in the area,” she answered.

“Send Prentiss the address; Y/L/N, go with,” Hotch ordered.

“They’re gonna ask who you are,” Connie said nervously. “They don’t know.” 

For that reason exactly, you left your bomber jacket in the car and borrowed the plain one Emily was wearing. For the first time since working in the BAU, you didn’t feel like your identity was being screamed off of a rooftop.

“We’re just buying flowers,” you assured. You pointed to a bouquet. “Those daisies are nice.”

“In the report, it says your attacker knew what he wanted,” Emily said in a low voice. “That he was confident?”

“More like a control freak,” Connie said. “He wore a mask, but I could tell he was white. He choked me. It took a long time for the bruises to go away. If the lighting is right, it’s like I can still see his hand. It’s nothing compared to the bite marks, though. They’re scars now.”

“I know what that feels like,” you said softly, which gained both Connie and Emily’s attention. “I’m sorry.”

Connie nodded, then grabbed the bouquet you asked for. “I’ll go wrap these for you.”

“Thank you.”

When Connie was out of earshot, you turned to Emily. “Are we seriously talking two alpha males?” 

“It seems so.”

  
_____________________

“The man we’re looking for is just like your father,” you said, taking a seat next to Andrea, William’s daughter. “He’s smart, strong confident. He might have a family also.”

“Oh, so now you’re going to accuse someone else’s dad of murder?” Andrea asked.

You let out a breath. “I know this is hard, Andrea, but —”

“Do you?” She asked. “Do you know?”

“Yes,” you said calmly. “I know. He’s your dad: you don’t want to believe he can do wrong. But Andrea — and I mean this in the nicest way possible — this isn’t about you. Really, it’s not even about your father. It’s about the girls that are being kidnapped, raped, and murdered. Don’t you think their families deserve… something? Some kind of closure?”

She didn’t say anything.

“We think the accomplice has done this before,” you continued. “He’s been described as a white man in his 40s. He’s someone you might recognize, and there’s a good chance he’ll check up on you.” 

“Why would he do that?”

“He’s worried about your dad, but he has no way to contact him. You and your mother are the next best thing.”

Once again, she said nothing.

You stood up. “Stay safe, Andrea,” you said before walking off to find Emily.

  
_____________________

__

_You walked into your apartment, throwing your bag and jacket onto the floor. Normally, you were neater and more organized, but today, you were exhausted. You got back from a case a couple hours before having to attend lectures in the morning. You thought coffee replaced the blood flowing through your veins. _

_You walked into the kitchen, getting a glass of water before turning in for the night. When you turned around, you noticed something sitting on your kitchen counter._

_Pink, purple, and blue daisies filled a vase you didn’t buy. A white note on top stuck out. _

‘The apartment needs some decoration.

-Spencer.’  
_  
You bit your lip with a smile_.

  
_____________________

The case ended with William and his partner, who turned out to be his neighbor, behind bars. Andrea and her mother were in shambles, but no one expected otherwise. You felt bad for them both. They made the investigation more difficult, yes, but it wasn’t intentional. They loved him. They didn’t want to believe he was capable of evil. 

“Great work everyone,” Hotch praised as the team filtered back into the office. “Go home, get some sleep.”

Everyone went to their desks, including you. You were starting to regret picking the one next to Spencer.

“Y/N,” Hotch said, catching your attention. “Can I speak to you before you leave?” 

You nodded, swallowing. “Sure.” 

He nodded before walking upstairs. 

You gathered your things, refusing to look at anyone. By the time you ascended the stairs, you thought Spencer’s gaze would burn a hole through your skin. You slipped into Hotch’s office before that could happen.

“Take a seat,” Hotch said, already in the chair behind his desk.

You did as you were told.

“What happened today?” He asked.

You frowned. “Did I do something wrong, sir?”

“Reid told me you were the one to discover two authors in the blog posts,” he said instead. “Why didn’t you mention that?”

You shrugged. “It didn’t seem important.”

“It didn’t cross your mind when you asked to be reassigned?” He inquired. 

You bit your lip. 

“Since you joined the BAU, you and Spencer have made an excellent team,” Hotch continued. “I’d hate to see that relationship ruined.”

“It isn’t,” you assured. “Just because I want to work with other people doesn’t mean I hate Spencer. I have other people to learn from, is all.”

Hotch studied you for a moment. “It’s okay to confide in people, Y/N. It’s okay if you confide in someone on this team. In… unique circumstances, HR should be informed, but it’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

“Okay, I’m gonna stop you right there,” you said. “What happened between Spencer and I started before I worked here. It started before you even offered me a job. But it’s over now. We were together. We aren’t now. We’re adults: we know how to be civil. We know how to put personal issues aside and focus on the job at hand. You have nothing to worry about. So am I good to go?” 

He nodded. 

“Great,” you muttered, standing up and walking to the door.

“Y/N?” Hotch said. 

You turned around. 

“You went to war, and 3 weeks ago, a man held a gun to your head,” Hotch stated. “If you need help, you should ask for it.”

“I’m okay,” you said. “I’ve lived through worse.”

  
_____________________

__

_“Who is this?”_

_You smiled, turning away from your record player. “Lord Huron.”_

_You began swaying to the music. You offered Spencer your hand. He shook his head. _

_“I don’t dance,” he said. _

_Ignoring his protests, you grabbed both of his hands and slowly pulled him to his feet. “It’s a long night, can I spend it with you? ‘Cause you’re oh so pretty when you stand on the edge…”_

_When the refrain began to play, you extended your arms outwards, still holding Spencer’s hands, and pulled yourself back in. Spencer caught your drift, spinning you a few times. You giggled, throwing your head back. _

_The two of you continued to dance like that; focusing more on the feeling and moving to the beat versus worrying what the two of you looked like. Once or twice, you even reached your hand up to twirl Spencer. He of course obliged, which made you erupt with laughter. _

_As the song died down, you rested your arms on his shoulders. His hands found your waist, and the two of you swayed to the sound. When the song was over, he pulled you into a kiss.  
_

You woke up from your dream. It wasn’t a nightmare, and yet, you cried yourself back to sleep.

  
_____________________

8 AM sharp, you were sitting in the briefing room with the rest of the team. You sat at one end of the table, while Spencer occupied the other.

“10-year-old Sammy Sparks of Lafayette Parish, Louisiana showed up to school this morning covered in blood,” Garcia said. 

A few pictures appeared on the monitor behind her; a young boy, no older than ten, had blood spatters across his hands and one side of his face.

“When the police got to his house, they discovered that his parents, Charlie and Allison Sparks, are missing.” 

“Forensics show that at least one of them was injured,” Derek said.

“That amount of blood? I’m guessing gunshot,” you added.

“Has there been a ransom demand?” Emily asked.

Garcia shook her head. “None whatsoever.” 

Rossi frowned. “Then why call in the BAU?” 

“New Orleans Police is hoping we can interview Sammy,” Hotch answered.

“No one has talked to the witness yet?” Spencer asked in confusion. 

“Sammy’s autistic,” Hotch clarified. “Getting him to talk won’t be easy. I’m hoping you and Y/N will be able to get through to him.” 

You looked up from the file. “You want me to talk to Sammy?”

Everyone but Spencer looked at you.

“Is that a problem?” Hotch inquired.

“Of course not,” you said immediately. “It’s just… I’m not a profiler, and I don’t have much experience when it comes to autism. I don’t understand how I’m any more qualified than anyone else on the team.” 

The team shared a look. 

“Who’s gonna tell her?” Emily said.

You frowned. “Tell me what?” 

“Y/N, you’re amazing with kids,” Garcia said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“...I don’t understand.”

“Are you kidding?” JJ chuckled. “Angel, Katie, Jeremy… you might have more maternal instinct than I do.” 

“What? That’s ridiculous,” you scoffed.

“We can finish this debate on the jet,” Hotch intervened. “Wheels up in 30.”

  
_____________________

You and Spencer were led into a private room in the police station. You saw Sammy sitting on the couch, a pad of paper in his hand. He used crayons to draw the same two lines over and over again.

“Hi Sammy,” Spencer greeted warmly. “I’m Dr. Spencer Reid. What are you drawing?” 

The police officer that showed you in set his hand on Sammy’s arm. He immediately screamed and lurched back. He then began to rock back and forth in his seat. 

“Some autistic kids don’t respond well to touch,” you explained. The officer merely dismissed himself from the room, silently acknowledging that this situation was beyond him.

“It’s possible that witnessing his parents’ abduction pushed him into emotional overload and he shut down,” Spencer said in a low voice.

“Could be why he’s drawing the same thing over and over again,” you agreed. “Or, maybe he’s trying to tell us something.” 

“Sammy,” Spencer said, taking a seat on the coffee table opposite of the couch. “We’re looking for your mom and dad. Did ‘L’ take them?”

Sammy, still holding the crayon, lifted his hand into the air. He began making an ‘L’ motion with his hand. 

You excused yourself from the room, fishing your phone out of your pocket. 

“Go for Garcia.”

“Hey, Penn,” you greeted. “I need you to run a list of everyone that associated with the Sparks family — focus on anyone who’s first or last name starts with an ‘L’.”

“I have run every ‘L’ I can find, think of, or make up in my giant, magic head, and nothing fits,” Garcia said.

You, Hotch, Spencer, and Derek all stood around a table in the police station. You were on a video call with Garcia, as she said she had news to share with everyone. Unfortunately, it wasn’t the news you wanted to hear.

“Have you found Sammy’s next of kin?” Hotch asked. 

“Only by name. Charlie has a sister named Elizabeth that was last reported residing in Mont Belvieu, Tejas. But she’s not responding to calls or email.” 

“Elizabeth could stand for Liz or Lizzie,” Spencer said. 

“Could be where he’s getting the letter ‘L’ from,” you nodded in agreement. “We need to find her, and we need to find her fast.”

“I’ll find her so fast that the world will reverse rotation and time will bend backwards. Hello,” Garcia rattled before signing off.

While Spencer and the rest of the team explored leads on the parents, you decided to sit with Sammy and see if you could make some headway. 

“Hey, Sammy,” you said, taking a seat next to him on the couch. You were sure to leave a decent amount of space between the two of you. “My name is Y/N. I was in here earlier with my friend Spencer. Do you remember that?”

Sammy continued to draw his picture, which now seemed to consist of stars that looked like asterisks.

“I love your drawings,” you praised. “They have great color.”

You picked up one of his previous drawings, a sheet that was covered with ‘L’s. 

“What does this one mean, Sammy?” you asked.

Sammy glanced at the paper you were holding. He inhaled sharply and began to rock back and forth.

“Okay, it’s okay,” you said, setting down the paper. “You’re okay, Sammy. You’re safe.”

When he settled back down, you noticed that Sammy was tapping his fingers in a particular pattern. You observed him for a moment before it clicked.

“Sammy’s trying to tell us something,” you said, bursting into the conference room.

Everyone stared at you. 

“Y/N, this is Elizabeth, Sammy’s aunt,” Rossi said.

“It’s nice to meet you,” you said. “Sammy’s trying to tell us something.”

“Tell us what?” Spencer prompted.

“When I showed him his own drawing, the one with all the ‘L’s, he panicked,” you explained. “Then, he started tapping his fingers. I think he’s trying to play something.”

“Like on the piano?” Derek asked.

“He was playing when his parents were kidnapped,” Spencer recalled. “He might be remembering something.” 

“Is there any way we can get a keyboard?” You asked.

“We should bring him back to the house,” Rossi said. “Taking him back to the exact location could trigger something.”

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” you frowned. “He’s already pretty upset…”

“Whatever he’s trying to tell us could be the key to finding his parents,” Spencer countered. “But, of course, the ultimate decision is up to his guardian.”

You, Spencer, and Rossi all looked to Elizabeth.

“I’m supposed to decide?” She asked. 

“You’re his legal guardian right now,” Rossi repeated. “The decision is yours.”

  
_____________________

The three of you let Sammy enter the house first. He went to the piano almost immediately, but didn’t sit down right away; he ran his toy train along the frame first.

“How long has it been since you’ve seen him?” You asked Elizabeth.

“His 5th birthday,” she answered.

“5 years ago,” you said in shock.

“Charlie and I had a falling out,” Elizabeth explained. “It got ugly. I haven’t seen either of them since.” She paused. “Do you think you’ll find him?”

“I hope so,” you said with a reassuring smile.

“Sammy, is it alright if I sit here?” Spencer asked. 

He let a few seconds pass before taking a seat on the piano bench. Then, he began to play a scale.

Sammy took a seat next to him and began to play the same scale, only in a higher octave. 

“Woah, you’ve been holding out on me, Sammy,” Spencer said with a wide smile. He then played the scale backwards. Sammy did the same. 

“Sammy, how about you play this note,” Spencer said, then played a G, “for yes, and this note,” he played a C, “for no. Does that sound like something you can do?” 

Sammy played ‘yes’.

“Yeah, just like that,” Spencer praised. “Now, Sammy, do you remember when the man came and took your parents away?”

He played ‘yes’ again. He pressed the same key several times. Then, Sammy began to play a song. It sounded beautiful, like something ballerinas would dance to.

“Sammy, I don’t understand,” Spencer said softly. “Does this song mean something to you?” 

Sammy stopped playing. He set his hand in his lap. You thought he might stand up or walk out. But then, you saw him lift Spencer’s hand onto the piano. Sammy pressed down Spencer’s thumb, middle, and pinkie finger, all of them playing a different note. He then played the same three notes, but once again in higher octave. 

Sammy played the three notes in a specific order, one that sounded like the roots of the song he was playing mere moments ago. After repeating the rhythm a few times, Spencer joined seamlessly.

  
_____________________

__

_“Do you want to have kids?” Spencer asked._

_You considered, then nodded. “One day. After I’m done with school, probably. What about you?” _

_“I find the concept of pregnancy and childbirth disturbing,” Spencer admitted._

_You laughed. “Me too. But from what I’ve heard, you forget all the nasty and annoying and painful parts when the baby comes.”_

_“Fatherhood does have a certain... appeal to it,” he agreed. Then, he smiled to himself fondly. He looked so beautiful you wanted to take a picture, but you didn’t want to ruin the moment. You opted to take a mental picture instead.  
_

  
_____________________

Elizabeth excused herself to use the restroom. After awhile, she didn’t come back downstairs, so you decided to make a trip upstairs. Spencer and Sammy were still busy playing the piano, so you figured they’d be okay without you for a moment. 

You checked the bathroom, not surprised to find it empty. You wandered further into the house, eventually finding Sammy’s room. You saw Elizabeth sitting on his bed.

“Is everything okay?” you asked, stepping into the room. 

“I’m a stranger in my own brother’s house. My nephew doesn’t recognize me,” she said. “And then, I find this.”

You took a seat next to her. She offered you a flipbook of pictures, one Sammy and his parents used. On one of the pages was a picture of Elizabeth.

“I always assumed he had no idea who I was,” Elizabeth said.

“What was the fight about, if you don’t mind my asking?”

“I was the one who suspected Sammy had autism,” she answered. “Charlie couldn’t see it. He was so upset, he kicked me out.”

You flipped through the rest of the book; each page had an illustration on it, and in the corner was a clock demonstrating a time. “What made you think he’s autistic?”

“He was… different,” Elizabeth said. “So, I did some research. Charlie was blind to it. He refused to accept what I found.” 

“It’s scary,” you said, “learning your child won’t have it as easy as you did. If it makes you feel any better, you probably helped Sammy; you might have even saved Charlie and Allison’s marriage.” 

You continued to flip through the booklet. You enjoyed routine, but the Sparks took it to a whole new level. Sammy’s entire life revolved around what he did, when he did it… he interprets the world through pictures.

Pictures.

You ran down the stairs and back into the living room.

“Spencer, come look at this,” you said, as you entered the room. Elizabeth followed suit. 

He stopped playing with Sammy to approach you. “What, his flip book?”

“Not just his flip book: his routine,” you said. “Shower, brush teeth, dress... His entire life is planned out in order.”

“Maybe we can figure out where he met the UnSub,” Spencer said.

“He already did,” you countered. “He lives his life in pictures.”

Spencer fumbled for his bag, pulling out Sammy’s drawings. “He’s been trying to speak to us, but he only communicates through symbols.”

He spread the drawings out on the floor. “It’s his language.”

You pointed to one on the far right. “Anchors, like your socks,” you said. Sure enough, Spencer lifted his pant leg to show blue socks covered with anchor designs. 

“And those are asterisks: it’s the logo on your jacket,” Spencer said.

You took off your jacket and looked at the back, though you’d hardly forgotten what the paramedic logo looked liked. 

“So what does the ‘L’ mean?” Elizabeth asked. 

“I don’t think it is an ‘L’,” Spencer disagreed. 

“It’s a time,” you said, pointing to the clock in the corner of each page.

“It’s the time he’s trying to tell us about — the time he met the UnSub,” Spencer concluded. “Where is he at 3:00?”

You flipped through. “2:30, music store. He doesn’t leave until it closes at 6.” 

Spencer was already on it, adjusting the time on his watch so it said 3:00.

“Hey, Sammy, it’s almost 3,” he said, showing Sammy his watch. “Is there some place you should be?”

Sammy ran his finger over the watch face, tracing the arms on the watch. 

“Should be, store,” he said.

By the time you found the Sparks, it was too late for Charlie. You’d later learn he had been dead since the night before. It was also too late for the UnSub, but you didn’t feel so bad about that part, especially considering that Allison was the one who shot him. You comforted Elizabeth as she mourned the loss of her brother, and you watched Sammy as he reciprocated his mother’s hug for the first time in his life. It was a bittersweet ending.

You entered your apartment, tossing your jacket, bag, and keys onto the couch. You moved into the kitchen, fixing yourself a drink. You already knew you wouldn’t be attending any lectures the next morning, so you poured yourself some Fireball. The first sip alone burned your throat and warmed your chest. 

You heard the doorknob jiggle. You reached for your pistol, which was in a holster on your side; you passed firearm certification a little over a week ago. 

Spencer opened the door. You let out a sigh that sounded more like a growl.

“What the hell are you doing here?” you asked, holstering your weapon. “You scared the shit out of me.” 

“Tobias Hankel,” he said.

“What?”

“Tobias Hankel is the man who hurt me,” he continued.

You shook your head, setting down your drink. “Please, not now, Spencer.” 

“He kidnapped me, tied me to a chair, and injected me with Dilaudid,” Spencer said. “I blacked out each time, and when I came back, he did it again. Once, he stopped my heart and had to resuscitate me.”

“Please, stop,” you said, voice growing weaker.

Spencer closed the door, stepping deeper into your apartment. “He held a gun to my head and made me choose which BAU team member he would kill.” 

“Stop,” you begged, voice no louder than a whisper.

“He hurt me, Y/N, and I wasn’t the same for a long time,” Spencer continued. “In some ways, I’m still different. But I’m okay. I found a way to live with it. And you can too, if you just talk. Just let me in. Let me help.” 

“You can’t help me!” you screamed. “No one can! Don’t you get it, Spencer?! I am _broken_. I came home broken, I live a broken life, and one day, I’ll die broken. That is my cross to bear, not yours.” 

“I love you,” Spencer said, swallowing thickly. “I love you and whatever mess you come with. So please, Y/N, I am_ begging_ you, let me help you.” 

You put a hand over your mouth to mask a sob. You felt Spencer move forward, trying to pull you into a hug. You pushed him away.

“Get the fuck away from me,” you cried, tears streaming down your face. 

Clearly, Spencer wasn’t one to give up easily. He grabbed you again, this time pressing your side into his chest so you couldn’t fight him with your arms. You clawed at his grip a few times, but really, you were just so tired. 

You broke down completely, sinking to the floor. Spencer followed you down, his face in your hair and his arms still tight around you. One of his forearms was across your chest, and you gripped it for dear life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I <s>stole</s> took inspiration from like, 3 different shows/movies to write those flashback scenes lol.
> 
> If you like this story, please let me know! I'm only interested in writing when people are interested in reading <3


	7. Can't Carry This Anymore

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the time between updates!! I was on a roll at the start of this fic, and the only real reason is because I loved it, and you guys loved it. Obviously I still love this story, but life can be crazy, and I don't always have the time to sit down and pound out 5,000 words (which I'm sure most of you understand). 
> 
> That being said, I seriously can't thank you all enough for your kudos and comments; I'm not lying when I say it's the reason I keep writing this story. I don't think I've ever written anything with this much continued support, and said support is why it only takes me a few days/weeks to come out with a 5k chapter instead of a few months. So, seriously, if you want more, tell me. It means more than you know.
> 
> That being said, welcome to Chapter 7! It's about to get emotional. 
> 
> Title Song: [x](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZCycoUCopno)

Baby steps: your new two favorite words. 

Healing was hard. You’ve known that for awhile; ever since your dad died, you were learning new ways to cope. What you haven’t known for awhile, though, was what it was like to heal with someone beside you. 

When you were in pain, you tended to isolate yourself (hence your breakup). You internalized everything: thoughts, emotions, opinions… you became nothing but an empty shell of anger, and you expressed it in unhealthy ways. You wanted that to change. And Spencer wanted to help.

The two of you were in an awkward limbo of unknowing. Weeks had passed since you broke down in front of him, but the two of you haven’t kissed since the night before you broke up with him. You hugged a lot, and sometimes he slept over, but it was only to hold you. You weren’t sure if he was your boyfriend again. In your defense, though, he didn’t seem to know either.

Group therapy was his idea. It was something you contemplated in the past, but each time, you ultimately decided against it. Spencer managed to persuade you this time around, even finding a group for you to attend. Turns out, there’s a lot of veterans in DC.

“Hi,” you said as you stood up and waved awkwardly. “My name is Y/N. This is my first time here. I served as a medic in the Army for 5 years. For 18 months of that, I was deployed as a combat medic.”

“Where’d you tour?” An older man asked. The bottom of his cane was pressed to the floor, both hands holding it in place.

“Syria,” you answered. 

A black gentleman let out a long, low whistle. “You must have seen some shit, girlie.” 

You sat back down. “I didn’t come here for the coffee.”

Practically everyone in the group burst out into laughter. You thought you even saw the therapist chuckling to himself. 

In this group, men outnumbered women by quite a bit; there were 3 women, including yourself, and 7 men. You could have gone to their all-women meeting later that week, but you decided to save that one for later. For now, your horizons were broad.  
These men were gruff, blunt, and cut-and-dry — everything you expected from older vets that lived through what you did, maybe even worse. You could see why some female veterans felt more inclined to attend a women’s group; they were still tough as hell, but there was a certain courtesy they retained. It was as though men lost that courtesy somewhere along their service. You didn’t mind, though. Most of them reminded you of your grandfather. 

“And who’s the handsome man you brought with you?” A woman with long, grey hair asked. Her smile was wrinkly, and her voice rough: a smoker, you assumed. She smiled at Spencer. “Your husband?”

You laughed lightly as you shook your head. “This is Spencer. He’s… my friend.” 

The man with the cane snorted. “Friend. How do you feel about that, boy?”

“I’m quite alright with it,” Spencer assured. 

He was a fish out of water in a setting like this. You were happy he merely introduced you to this place, let alone sat beside you the entire time. You were truly lucky to have someone like him in your life.

Turns out, you had a lot in common with basically everyone in the group. All of them were deployed at some point, mostly to Afghanistan or Iran. Some even served in the Vietnam War. Regardless of location, though, you all shared the same trait: none of you came back the same person you left as. Something happened. Something changed you. 

“I try to be better,” Marge, the woman from before, said. “I try to do good, not let the past weigh me down. I helped a lot of people. I try not to think about the people I hurt.” 

You pat her shoulder briefly. She brushed fingers with your hand, a silent way to show appreciation. 

“What about you, kid?” Rudy, the man with the cane, asked. “You’ve been pretty quiet.”

You considered. “I was in the wrong place at the wrong time. It cost me everything.”

“That’s no explanation, sweetheart,” Abraham, the black man, said. 

“Lucky for her,” the therapist intervened, “we’re out of time.”

“It takes at least two sessions to unlock my backstory,” you joked with a shrug. “Sorry, boys.”  
You and Spencer stayed for a bit afterwards, drinking more cheap coffee and sharing a few lighter, easier words with other attendees. Marge managed to pull Spencer aside, and whatever the two were talking about, they both seemed interested. You smiled fondly. 

When the men you were surrounded by noticed, they began to make a few jokes about how Spencer was clearly more than a ‘friend’. You took it as your excuse to leave.

“‘Two sessions?’” Spencer quoted on the way out. “Do you want to come back?”

You nodded, a small smile on your face. “Yeah, I think I do.” 

Spencer put an arm around your shoulders. “I’m proud of you, Y/N.”

“Thank you, Spencer.”

For maybe the first time in your life, you were proud of you too.

  
_____________________

You and Spencer walked into the office to find what seemed like everyone except the BAU there. People in camouflage and suits alike swarmed in the bullpen, taking every possible floor space. You’d be lucky to make it to your desk, let alone find it empty. 

“What the hell..?” you muttered to yourself.

Spencer briefly grabbed your hand. You quickly realized it was only to pull you across the room and to the stairs. However, you didn’t miss the slight squeeze he gave you.

“Guys, this is Dr. Linda Kimura, Chief of Special Pathogens at the CDC,” JJ explained when you and Spencer entered the briefing room.

“CDC?” you repeated in disbelief.

“Hello,” she greeted. “I’m sorry to meet under these circumstances.”

“What circumstances, exactly?” Spencer asked. 

“We should get started,” Hotch said. 

Everyone, including you, picked up a file from the table. 

“Last night, 25 people checked into emergency rooms in and around Annapolis,” Garcia said. “They were all at the same park after 2PM last night. Within 10 hours, the first victim died. “Less than 16 hours later, 11 more are dead.” 

“Lung failure and black lesions,” you said, reading the chart. “Anthrax?” 

“Anthrax doesn’t kill this fast,” Spencer disagreed.

“This strain does,” Dr. Kimura said. 

“What are we doing about potential mass targets?” Emily asked. “Airports, malls, trains?”

“There’s a media blackout,” Hotch replied.

“We’re not telling the public?”

“We’d have a mass exodus,” Derek said.

“The psychology of group panic would cause more deaths than this last attack,” Rossi agreed.

“Yeah, and if it does get out, whoever did this might go underground or destroy their samples,” Spencer said. 

“Or he didn’t get the attention he wanted and might attack again,” Emily argued. “Doesn’t the public have a right to know that?” 

“Next time, we’ll all be dead,” you said, mostly to yourself. You looked up to find everyone staring at you. “This attack was supposed to be quiet — he’s testing his strain, seeing how effective it is. The next time he strikes, too many people will be dead for anyone to keep it quiet.”

“The best way to stop a future attack is by profiling him as quickly as we can,” Hotch continued. 

“What do we know about the strain?” Spencer asked Dr. Kimura.

“The spores are weaponized, reduced to a respiral ideal that attacks deep in the lungs,” She explained. “Odorless and invisible.”

“Sophisticated,” Rossi noted. “Only a scientist would know how to do that.” 

“The size of these lesions are doubling in a couple of hours,” JJ said, looking at the before and after photos. 

“It’s not the lesions I’m worried about,” Dr. Kiruma said, “it’s the lungs. We don’t know how to combat the toxins once they’re inside. The reality is, we may lose them all.”

“The remaining survivors have all been moved to a special wing at Walter Reed Hospital,” Garcia said. “Our offices will become a small command center.” 

“We’ll be working with scientists from Fort Detrick,” Hotch said. “Determining what strain this is will help inform who’s responsible.”

“My team is in charge of treating all victims,” Dr. Kimura said.

“Reid, Y/L/N, go with Dr. Kimura to the hospital, interview the victims,” Hotch instructed. He gave everyone else their instructions before picking up a tray on the table. “Cipro. Everyone needs to take it before we go.”

“We don’t know if it’s effective against this strain, but it’s something,” Dr. Kimura said. 

You and everyone else reached for a plastic cup containing two white pills. You also grabbed a cup of water from the table.

“This is really happening?” Prentiss asked in disbelief. 

“We knew this could happen,” Hotch stated calmly. “We’ve prepared. We’ve done our homework. This is it.” 

You outstretched your pill cup to Spencer’s. “Cheers?”

He clicked his cup against yours.

You followed Spencer into a hospital room. Dr. Kimura gave you both a basic rundown on her and her symptoms. 

“Hi, Abby,” you greeted, a few steps behind Spencer. “My name’s Y/N, and this is Spencer. We work for the FBI. Is it alright if we ask you a few questions?”

Her lips were grey, and her eyes lost a lifelike sheen. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think a zombie was lying in bed rather than a person.

She nodded once. 

“Abby, I’d like to do a memory recall exercise with you to take you back to the park, if that’s okay,” Spencer explained slowly and calmly. 

She nodded again.

“I need you to close your eyes.”

Abby closed her eyes.

“Yesterday, you rode your bicycle to the park,” Spencer started. “How did the Sun feel on your skin, the breeze through your hair?” Can you describe for me what you heard, and the people you saw?”

“It was warm, windy…” she rasped out. “There were guys, football… kids… sin me free me.” 

You and Spencer shared a look.

“Free me seen mock me free,” she stuttered out.

“Okay, you just rest,” you said gently. Abby tried to speak again, but you shushed her before she could. The poor girl looked terrified. “We’ll leave you alone.”

You walked out of the room, Spencer shortly behind you. 

“What’s causing her aphasia?” He asked.

“Kimura said it has to do with the part of the brain the anthrax is attacking,” you answered. “...She also said a few other patients showed the same symptoms before they died.” 

“We need to find that cure.”

You watched outside as Kimura tried to revive the 17th victim. She was unsuccessful. 

“38-year-old history teacher,” she said with a sigh as she stepped out. “He’s leaving two kids behind.” 

You and Spencer followed her to the nurse's station, where she began to look through some paperwork. “This strain is duplicating every 30-45 minutes. It’s poisoning the lungs, which causes massive hemorrhaging and organ failure.”

“Extreme bacterial amplification,” Spencer agreed.

“Huh,” you said absentmindedly. The gears in your head were turning. 

“What are you thinking?” Spencer asked almost immediately.

“It’s… weird,” you said, mostly to yourself. “You have to test a strain like this, see what quantity is needed to get the desired effect. What kind of scientist tests on a large group of people in an uncontrolled atmosphere? This man is psychotic, but he’s not stupid.”

“Scientists work their way up to human testing; they start on rodents, advance to larger mammals, and then at some point, they start a very small trial run on a small number of people.” 

“What are you saying?” Dr. Kimura inquired.

“This wasn’t a trial run,” you said, “and it wasn’t his first attack, either.” 

“We would have known about a previous anthrax case,” she argued.

“Not if it presented itself as something else.”

Dr. Kimura managed to find you both an empty room to make a phone call.

“Two days ago, two people in two seperate Baltimore ERs and one person in a Philadelphia ER slipped into comas and died suddenly,” you said as soon as you heard the line pick up.

“Y/N, slow down,” JJ said. “Is Spencer with you?”

“Hello,” Spencer said awkwardly. “Who all are we talking to?”

“Me, Rossi, and Hotch,” JJ replied.

“The cause of death on those three patients was meningitis,” Spencer explained. “Doctors didn’t do further testing because the illnesses presented themselves as meningitis, but we think they could’ve been caused by anthrax.”

“Did they show the symptoms we’re seeing now — the lesions?” Rossi asked.

“They all died within 3 hours of being admitted,” Spencer continued. “The bodily functions expired too quickly for lesions to appear.” 

“The first patient from the park died 10 hours after exposure,” Hotch spoke up. 

“He could have used less anthrax on more people at the park,” you theorized. “The higher concentration, the faster this shit kills. If enough was used in a more controlled environment, it could easily shut down every system in the body within a few hours, leaving no time for physical symptoms.” 

“What are their names?” Hotch asked after a brief moment of silence.

With the help of a few higher-ups in the military, the team found the best lead so far: a disgraced scientist who proposed a 50-billion dollar plan to fight any potential chemical warfare. His main concern? Anthrax. Derek and Spencer were assigned to visit his home while Prentiss and Rossi visited the company he worked for. Staying at the hospital would be useless, so you decided to tag along. 

Dr. Lawrence Nichols’ yard was tidy; he had a sprinkler going, and the rose bush in his backyard seemed to be trimmed recently. The three of you explored the outside of the house while men in hazmat suits secured the inside. 

Derek got a phone call. Spencer stayed behind to listen in. You continued ahead.

Past a few decorative shrubs, you found a sliding glass door. Bright, fluorescent lights were on inside, lighting up a room with grey walls. 

“Hey, guys,” you said, turning your head over your shoulder in an attempt to carry your voice. 

Either they didn’t hear you, or they were ignoring you. You shrugged, sliding open the door and stepping in.

“Whoa.”

Not only was the room practically spotless, but it was filled with equipment — you guessed at least a couple thousand dollars went into the contents of the room, probably far more. To say this guy knew what he was doing would be the understatement of the century.

After scanning the walls and multiple tables, your eyes landed on the floor. It was composed of white tiles that shone under the light. Nicholas seemed to be a real neat freak. By the leg of a table, though, there was an inconsistency: a dark liquid was spilled.

Frowning, you stepped around to take a better look. Within a few steps, the entire sight came into your view, and it was far from a pretty one. A white-haired man in a suit laid dead on the floor. It could only be Nichols. 

Your hand flew to the holster on your side. You grabbed your pistol, raising it to the air. You did another sweep of the room, and unsurprisingly, you came up empty. The lab was impressive, but it was small. It would extremely difficult for someone to hide in it. 

You returned your gun to its holster. Crouching down, you took a better look at Nichols. You guessed he’d be dead for awhile now. The blood on the floor was brown and tacky rather than red and thin, and rigor mortis had already set in. You weren’t particularly educated in the field, but you could say with confidence he’d been dead for at least a day. 

Looking closer, you noticed something beside him. It was a vile, much like the others on various tables in the lab. This one, though, had a bright yellow label on it. It also contained a thin, white powder. And, it was shattered into pieces. 

Anthrax.

“Y/N?” You heard Spencer call. 

The bushes that covered the lab entrance shook. Acting on instinct, you moved to the door and slammed it shut. 

“Y/N?!” Spencer asked, this time more frantically. He rushed to the door, reaching for the handle.

“Get back!” you shouted, fumbling for the lock. “Spencer, you need to get out of here.”

“What’s going on?!” He protested, feeding off of your panic. When he realized trying to pry open the door would do no good, Spencer began pounding on the glass with his fist. “Y/N, open the door!”

You managed to lock the door, and a brief, small wave of relief washed over your body. You looked up, locking eyes with Spencer. His palm was pressed flat against the door, his eyebrows furrowed and his mouth slacked open.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered.

A swarm of people were outside the house within ten minutes. You could take the three various vehicles, the dozens of soldiers and CDC members swarming around. What you couldn’t take was Derek, Hotch, and especially Spencer staring at you from across the yard. 

Hotch picked up his phone and held it in front of him. You phone rang a few seconds later.

“Sir, I’m so, so sorry,” you apologized immediately. “I… I really fucked up.” 

“Y/N, we’re going to get you out and to the hospital,” Hotch said. 

“What? That’s stupid,” you disagreed. “I’m staying here.”

“Like hell you are!” Spencer argued.

“Listen, Doogie: I’m infected. I’m more useful if I’m infected in Nichols’ lab than if I’m infected in the hospital. I can poke around in here, but I’m no prodigy with an eidetic memory. I need your help, Spencer. Will you help me?”

Spencer looked down. You sighed in defeat, hanging up the phone so you could continue exploring the lab. 

Your phone rang again. You picked up. 

“How can I help?” 

“I see two different desks — one is cluttered, the other is immaculate,” you said, looking between the two. You took a notebook off the first desk, opened it, and placed it next to a stack of papers on the second, clean desk. “There’s two sets of handwriting, too. I think he has a partner.”

“Can you figure out which one is Nichols?” Spencer asked.

“Well, based on his lab, I’d guess he’s the neat freak,” you thought aloud. 

“Read a few of the papers Nichols wrote,” Spencer instructed. “Does anything strike you as odd?” 

You skimmed through the papers left on his desk, muttering to yourself as you did so. By the third page, you found something that seemed… weird. 

“He wrote down instructions,” you told Spencer. “How to sterilize equipment, store samples… it’s all stuff he should know.”

“He doesn’t have a partner — he has an apprentice,” Spencer said. “Good job, Y/N. I have to call Hotch, but I’ll call you right after, okay?”

You smiled weakly. “Okay.”

Once they secured and sterilized the area, Spencer was allowed to sit on the other side of the door. He wanted to come inside, but you preferred this. You wanted to see him as his dorky, charming self, not someone in pounds of a bright orange suit. 

“It’s ironic,” you said, your back pressed to the glass. You took off your jacket awhile ago, but sweat still soaked your shirt. “For the first time in almost a decade, I decided to get help. Now, I’ll be dead before I can even see the results.”

“Don’t say that, “Spencer argued softly. “You’re not dying. Kimura and her team will be in soon, and they’ll find the cure. You’re gonna be fine.” 

“Maybe,” You said. You didn’t believe it, but you didn’t want to upset him, so you let it go. Therapy taught you to choose your battles. “But if I’m not fine in a few hours, I want to say I’m sorry.”

“For what?” 

Spencer was sitting directly opposite from you, so the glass felt warm. Despite your already elevated temperature, the heat was soothing. If you closed your eyes, it felt like you were touching him.

“For breaking up with you, for pushing you away, for… everything,” you laughed bitterly only to fight back tears. “I love you, Spencer Reid, and I’m sorry I haven’t been showing it lately.”

“You can show it when you’re out of here and safe in my apartment,” He promised. “Actually… in our apartment.”

“I’m moving in with you?” You asked with a genuine laugh.

“Yes, and you’re not allowed to say no,” Spencer said. “I’m never letting you out of my sight again.” 

“I don’t like my apartment that much anyways,” you said.

The two of you shared a chuckle. Your laughter quickly turned into a violent cough. Spencer went silent

You fished your phone out of your pocket, dialing a number you now knew by heart.

“Hey, Y/N,” Garcia said after picking up. Her voice was soft and sweet.

“‘Y/N’?” You asked. “No witty Garcia greeting for me?”

“I can’t be my sparkly self when you are where you are,” she replied.

“Garcia, can you do something for me?”

“Anything.” 

“I can’t call my mom,” you said. “Ever since I joined the Army, she’s been paranoid — if I say one word in a weird way, she’ll be on the next plan to DC. I can’t put her in danger like that.”

“What do you need?” Garcia asked.

“I need you to record a message for her in case something happens,” you said softly. 

“Oh, Y/N, nothing’s going to happen to you,” Garcia said. The optimism in her voice sounded real. “You’re gonna figure out who did this, and we’re gonna treat this strain.”

“I hope you’re right,” you said with an exhale, “but… just in case.” 

“Okay. Give me a sec,” Garcia said. You heard her clicking away at her keyboard, pulling up the right program. “Ready.”

“Hi, Mom,” you said, stopping to cough. “Honestly, I don’t know what I’m supposed to say, but I know I should say something. ...I guess more than anything else, I’m sorry. I’m sorry for moving halfway across the country, I’m sorry I don’t call you back, I’m sorry I don’t let you in on much. 

“I’m sorry I left so soon after dad died,” your voice caught. You cleared your throat. “I just… I had to get out. I know you say it’s okay, but it wasn’t. We were going through hell, and we should have done it together. You’re an amazing mother. I’m sorry for being such a shitty daughter. I just… I hope you know how much I love you. I love you more than anything, mom. I’m sorry it ended this way. I’m just really, really sorry.”

Ten minutes later, Dr. Kimura and a few other people were inside. You stood up, taking in her airtight suit. 

“You look good,” you said sarcastically. “I’m going to a banquet next month. Can I borrow your outfit?”

She chuckled. “I haven’t worn this in a long time.”

“How are the patients at the hospital?” 

“Let’s worry about you,” she said instead. “Are you in any pain?”

“No, I feel fine,” you said. “I don’t need anything.”

“Are you sure?” She asked. “We can at least try to make you comfortable.”

“Narcotics cause drowsiness and nausea,” you said. “I’m still here because I want to be useful.” 

“Y/N!” Spencer said, tapping the glass to get your attention. 

You turned around to see him with his phone pressed against his ear.

“The three ER patients all went to the same bookstore before being admitted,” Spencer told you. “They found traces of anthrax in the vents.” 

“How can I help?” Dr. Kimura asked.

“Dr. Nichols was a former military scientist, which means he was most likely secretive and paranoid,” you said, stopping to breathe. “Odds are, he hid the cure from his partner in a place he wouldn’t suspect. Look for things that are obvious, hidden in plain sight.”

Your phone rang in your pocket. You turned to Spencer again, who raised his eyebrows. You picked up your phone.

“I’ve got Garcia on the line,” he said. “Rossi and Prentiss don’t think the accomplice was a coworker.” 

“Okay, uh…” you frowned, thoughts jumbling. You retraced your steps back to Nichols’ desk to look for more clues. “I see a framed photo of Nichols teaching.” You looked in the file holder, coming up with nothing. You then looked through the basket in the corner and found a binder. “I see syllabi and assignments going back to the 70s.” 

“He valued himself as an educator,” Spencer said. 

“A teacher,” you whispered in thought. You dug through one of the drawers, looking for something you saw earlier. “I didn’t make the connection before, but he has a study on anthrax. There’s red ink and notes in the margins — it’s graded, like how a teacher grades a paper. Nichols wouldn’t open his lab to just anyone, but he might let someone in if they were interested in learning.”

“He appealed to Nichols as a student,” Spencer agreed. “Nichols is helping him with his thesis.” 

“I can look up local PhD students,” Garcia chimed in.

“Check the sciences — biochemisty, microbiology,” Spencer instructed.

“Cross-checking with names of former employees or customers with grievances at the bookstore…” Garcia said. “Nothing, my doves.” 

You coughed loudly, covering your mouth. “Here, listen to this,” you said after recovering. “‘Each household should have gas masks and a 2-month supply of cipro.’”

“That’s verbatim to what Nichols said,” Spencer spoke. “The partner’s adopted Nichols’ views to his own.”

“The chapters are on setting up triage and mobile emergency rooms,” you said, flipping through the paper. “Last time I checked, science students don’t write about city preparedness.” 

“Garcia, cross-check with students in social studies — public policy, urban planning,” Spencer said. 

“Hot to trot,” Garcia said. “Chad M. Brown, studied public policy, graduated from University of Maryland. He’s a former employee of the bookstore, no steady job, was slapped with a restraining order from his ex-girlfriend.”

“He’s our guy,” Spencer said. “Y/N, get out of there.”

You hung up, looking over and smiling faintly at him. He returned the expression. 

You stood up. A wave of coughs rolled through your chest, each hack more violent than the last. You eventually pulled your elbow back to see your paled skin splattered with blood. 

You felt dizzy. Your ears began to ring. Vaguely, you heard Spencer call your name, but it sounded like you were underwater. You knees buckled under your own weight. 

The world went dark.

  
_____________________

__

_You can’t see anything, so your other senses are amplified._

_The smells._

_The sounds. _

_Sweat, urine, blood, rotting flesh._

_Rodents scurrying across the dirt, brushing across your ankles as they went after the real prey._

_This place is hell on earth. _

_You’d rather die than spend another second here. _

  
_____________________

You woke up to a steady beeping sound. You frowned, briefly opening your eyes only to squeeze them back shut. The room smelled sterile. The bed you laid on was hard, but it was draped with soft sheets. Other than the fact that it opened in the back, the standard gown you were wearing was surprisingly comfortable too. 

“Welcome back,” Spencer greeted faintly.

You rolled your head to face his voice, eyes still closed. You finally noticed the cannula feeding oxygen into your nose, as it pressed against your cheek. Still, you smiled, and it wasn’t forced. “Hey.”

“You scared us, kid,” a deeper yet just as warm voice spoke up. 

You tried opening your eyes again. You could faintly make out a tall, stout man with his arms crossed. “Hey, Derek.”

You tried sitting up, only to hiss in pain and reach for your side. Spencer put a hand on your shoulder. 

“Take it easy,” he said softly, only moving his hand away when you laid back down. “They had to put a chest tube in — your lungs were starting to fill with blood.”

“Kimura said if they found the cure minutes later, your heart could have stopped,” Derek said.

“Where was it?”

“Nichols’ inhaler,” a voice from the doorway spoke up. Dr. Kimura stood there, a small smile on her face. “You were right: it was hidden in plain sight. And now, both the strain and the cure are going to be locked up in Fort Detrick along with other chemical warfare.” 

“The other patients?”

“They’ll be okay,” Kimura assured, “just like you’ll be.”

“Thank you.”

“Thank you,” Kimura said before dismissing herself.

“Well,” Derek said after a brief silence, “I’m starving. You two want anything?”  
Spencer shook his head.

“Coffee, please,” you said. 

“Coffee for the lady, comin’ right up,” Derek said, then left. He closed the door behind him.

Spencer scooted in closer, running a hand over your hair. “You scared the hell out of me.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Stop apologizing for things that aren’t your fault,” he scolded gently. “I’m just really, really relieved. I don’t know what I would do if I lost you.”

“I love you too,” you whispered. You moved your gaze to the ceiling, swallowing thickly. “I’m ready.”

“Ready for what?” 

“I’m ready to tell you what happened in Syria.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's the moment we've all be waiting for: Y/N is finally opening up!!! Shit's 'bout to go down. Speaking of, yes, that scene in italics was a flashback (or flashforward, depending how you look at it). 
> 
> 4x24 is honestly one of the best episodes of the entire show IMO; it was season finale material. It was a lot of fun to re-write.
> 
> What did you guys think? let me know!
> 
> Until next time... xx


	8. Moving On

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Y/N confronts her past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was so bittersweet but so, so fun to write. 
> 
> Just as a warning — ** a few parts of this chapter (mostly, a single scene) are pretty disturbing.** It's nothing worse than what is mentioned in Criminal Minds, but it's graphic. If it gets to be too much for you, skip to this: *** (the scene will also start with this symbol if you want to skip it altogether). 
> 
> Now, for a different warning... I don't know the first thing about the Military or the chain of command lol. My knowledge consists of google searches. 
> 
> All that being said, I hope you enjoy!
> 
> Title Song: [x](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4--OKda1qzU)

_ **Syria, 2015 ** _

“Are all girls from Colorado this rough, or is it just you?”

“Shut up, Austin.”

Austin laughed.

It was weird — soldiers buzzed around you like bees in a hive, but whenever you and Austin got the chance to talk, it was like you and him were the only people in the room. You just wished you could talk to him under better circumstances.

“I hope you know what you’re doing,” Austin continued. “The last guy you treated walked out of here looking like Frankenstein.”

“Without me, he would’ve been rolled out,” you retorted. You pulled at the sutures tightly, causing him to wince.

“Alright, alright,” he ceded with a chuckle, “I get it. But if you mess up my face, my mama will come after you.”

“I would never mess up a handsome face like yours,” you said sweetly as you worked at the cut on his cheekbone. “Why would I ruin a man’s only asset?”

“You wound me, Y/N,” Austin said, setting a hand over his heart. “You wound me to my core.” 

You snorted, laying a bandage over the sutures. You patted his shoulder. “You’re good to go, soldier.” 

Austin stood up from the gurney, grabbing his button-down digital camo shirt. He draped it over his arm, which you swore was the width of your head. As if that wasn’t enough, he towered over you: he was at least 6’4, and built like a tank. You once said he was the Army’s wet dream. You got a good laugh out of that remark.

Austin bowed slightly and tipped an imaginary hat. “Thank you, m’lady,” he said, accentuating his preexisting southern drawl. 

You shoved his shoulder with a smile. “Get out of here, Crow.”

He smiled, his white teeth contrasting his dark hair. “See you around, Y/L/N.”

“Hopefully not too soon,” you replied. 

“What, you don’t want to look at this pretty face?” He asked, fluttering his eyelashes.

“Not really, no,” you laughed. You cleared your throat. “Seriously, Austin: Don’t be a hero.” 

He nodded, respecting your change of tone. “Yes ma’am,” he agreed, before walking out of the triage tent and right back into danger.

You sighed, picking up and putting away your equipment.

Some days, you wished more than anything else that the two of you met under different circumstances. You wished he moved to Colorado with his family when he was a teenager, or that the two of you met in a small cafe in a big city. Hell, you’d even be okay if you met during Basic Training, the two of you fell in love, and he worked on a local reserve while you persued a different career. Really, you just wished you hadn’t met while serving in Syria, because no matter how you spinned it, it just wasn’t appropriate. 

Austin was a Staff Sergeant, which technically meant he ranked higher than you. However, the two of you worked in different areas; Austin was a combat soldier, while you were a medic. He fought on the frontline, you mostly worked triage. You took care of men like him. So, even though the Army may not forbid an affair between the two of you, that didn’t mean you thought it was okay. It felt like… corruption, like you were breaking the trust between you and your brothers. You didn’t want anyone for a single second to feel like they were less important to you.

So, you pushed your feelings aside. You savored the moments you spent with Austin, but you didn’t push it. You didn’t seek him out, you didn’t play favorites. You enjoyed the time you spent with him, but said time was brief, as it should be. 

You sighed again. He was a charming Texas boy with a heart of gold. How could a person not fall in love with him?

“The longer this goes on, the worse it gets.”

You and Austin watched a new batch of soldiers go through training. They were already deemed fit for combat, so the next few weeks would be spent teaching them the ins-and-outs of living and serving in an active warzone. Today’s lesson? IEDs. 

“I know,” you agreed, voices low as to not distract. “It started as peaceful protests against a President, and now more than half a million people are dead.”

“70 airstrikes later,” Austin said with a sigh. “Sometimes… nevermind.”

“What?” you asked. When he didn’t respond, you nudged his shoulder. “Sing your annoying song, Crow.”

He smirked, but didn’t quite laugh; the sound he made was that of a scoff. “Sometimes I wonder what the hell I’m even doing here.” 

“Me too,” you said softly.

The two of you found some downtime; Austin wouldn’t be heading out with his team until later in the afternoon, and after a busy morning, your tent was hitting a lull. The two of you decided to eat lunch together in an empty triage tent lined with gurneys. 

You sat on the ground beside each other, boots sunken into the mix of dirt and sand that made up the ground. Austin sat cross legged, and his knee brushed against your calf as you bounced your foot up and down.

“You gonna use that cheese?” He asked, referring to a silver packet you set on the ground.

“No,” you said, dumping your chicken fajita mix into your cooked rice packet. “Shit’s disgusting.”

Austin picked up the packet and tore it open with his teeth. He spread the fake, overly yellow ‘cheese’ spread onto a weird, fake pork sandwich he was making. The bread looked more like play-doh than bread, and the barbecue sauce he used was almost black. MREs: the epitome of luxury dining.

“That is nasty,” you remarked.

“Sometimes, you gotta take what you can get,” Austin said. He picked up a packet of clam chowder that had been heating up in its bag for awhile. He opened it and stirred it around before taking a spoonful and plopping it right on over the cheese spread. He finally closed the sandwich and took a massive bite.

“I’m gonna gag,” you stated bluntly. 

He frowned. “Why?” he asked through a mouthful of food.

“That is vile, Austin,” you said. “You just put clam chowder on a sandwich! With barbecue sauce and cheese! That’s so gross!”

He offered you the sandwich. “Wanna bite?” 

You tucked your chin against your chest and leaned back, shaking your head. “Get that away from me.”

To say the night was busy would be more than an understatement; 4 men from the same troop were rushed to triage, all with similar injuries caused by IEDs. One of the men ultimately ended up a double amputee, one leg blown off above the kneecap and the other being so damaged that most of the calf had to be removed. Somehow, a man from the same troop ended up with only minor lacerations. War was strange that way; you step on an IED the ‘right’ way, and it’s something you can walk away from. If you don’t, you could die.

“Alright everyone, we have 6 more soldiers coming in!” Your Lieutenant Colonel shouted. “All non-emergent patients should be transferred. Let’s hope for the best, prepare for the worst.”

You helped ‘reset’ a few stations, making sure they were clean and ready. When the men still hadn’t arrived, you approached Colonel Todd.

“Colonel,” you asked, catching her attention. “What else do you know?”

“Best guess? Task Force 221,” she replied, signing a few papers when someone handed her a clipboard. “Crow and his boys were out patrolling, Folks don’t take too kindly to soldiers around here.”

Your heart sank.

The men from Task Force 221 came in at the same time, and they were loaded out of the truck and onto gurneys one by one. You got assigned to the first person, which happened to be Austin himself.

“Go, help them,” Austin protested, already trying to get off the gurney. “I’m okay, just help my boys!”

You pushed him down by his chest as you and two other people rolled him inside. 

“Can I get a dose of Lidocaine, please?” you instructed, cutting away Austin’s already torn pants. So far, you saw two GSWs: one to the left lower leg, and one to the right calf. You adjusted the light above you to get a better look. “Make it two doses.” 

“I’m fine,” Austin pushed, once again trying to stand up.

“Austin Crow, I swear to god, I will tie you down if I have to,” you threatened. “You’re not fine — you’ve been shot. Sometimes, to take care of your team, you have to take care of yourself first.”

He laid back with a sigh.

Three hours passed before you could properly speak to Austin. After pulling the bullets from both his legs, you ran around trying to help people wherever and however you could. Eventually, you found the sweet spot where no one was critical but everyone was still busy. You managed to slip away and pull the curtains around Austin’s bed.

“What the hell were you thinking?!” you hissed under your breath.

“...What?”

“I heard what you did,” you said. “Your lieutenants were more than happy to tell me exactly how you got shot.” 

“By doing my job?” Austin asked. 

“You put yourself in the line of fire!” you argued. “You ran right into danger!”

“To help someone,” he explained calmly. “No man gets left behind, Y/N. You know that.” 

“You could have died!” you said between clenched teeth. You were trying to keep your voice down, but his apathy was driving you crazy. “God, what is it with you? The same day I take out your stitches, you come in with two gunshot wounds. What’s next, Austin? You want me to plan your funeral? Write to your parents, tell them how you died a hero?” 

“Why are you so pissed at me?” Austin asked. He seemed more confused than angry.

The words fell out before you could stop them. “Because I love you!” 

He didn’t say anything, just stared at you. You laughed bitterly. 

“There,” you said, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Cat’s out of the bag.” You sighed, setting your hand down and looking him in the eye. “I think… I’m in love with you, and I don’t want to see you dead.”

Silence fell. Austin looked away, looked back to you, looked away again, and clenched his jaw. You crossed your arms in self-defense, heart pounding as you waited for him to say something, anything.

Austin scooted over, then patted the space beside him. “Come here.”

You approached the bed, slowly and carefully sliding next to him. It was almost too small for Austin by himself, let alone with another person, so your weight ended up mostly on him. He didn’t seem to mind, though.

Austin’s arms wrapped around you, pulling you closer to his body. He buried his face in your hair, taking a long breath. “I’m sorry, Y/N. I’ll do better. I promise.”

This wasn’t supposed to happen. 

You were only covering for someone, a temporary replacement until a new combat medic was hired. Austin was hesitant; he wasn’t sure if you were cut out for the job. You assured him you’d be fine, that you went through the same training everyone else did, and that it wasn’t permanent.

You were an amazing combat medic. You tied every tourniquet tight, you took care of men until they could be shipped off the triage. The Colonel in charge of Task Force 221 commended you, said you could be a real fit for the field. 

Austin didn’t agree. The two of you had been secretly dating for about a month, and it was the first real fight the you got into. You said you were seriously considering accepting a job as a combat medic, and Austin disagreed. You could tell this fight wouldn’t be like the last one — you weren’t about to kiss him and tell him everything would be alright.

_  
“What, only you get to do the dirty work?” you asked. “Only you get make some real change?”_

_“This isn’t about glory, Y/N,” Austin sighed, running a hand through his cropped hair. “It’s about keeping you alive.”_

_“Now you know how I feel!” you argued, laughing at the irony. “It’s scary, isn’t it, Austin?! You want more than anything to pull me off of the battlefield, put me somewhere in this godforsaken country were I can be at least somewhat safe?!”_

_He clenched his jaw and looked away._

_“I’m gonna take that job,” you stated, “and I’m only quitting when you do.”  
_

Now, you were here, in a place you didn’t know, but you knew you didn’t like.

“Y/N?” you heard someone call weakly.

“Austin?!” you said, trying your hardest not to burst into tears. You couldn’t see anything, so hearing his voice was a massive relief. 

Your memory came back in pieces: you saw Austin walk ahead to secure the area, but he ended up stepping on and IED. Without even thinking, you ran ahead, despite the yells and other protests of the men beside you. 

_  
“Hey, baby,” you said gently, looking him up and down. It took everything in you not to gag or faint._

_He stepped right on the edge of the IED, meaning his left leg was blown off to right below the kneecap. The exposed muscle was shredded, and his bone stuck out like a morbid fence post._

_“You’re gonna be fine,” you promised, taking out your tourniquet. Just like you had been instructed what felt like decades ago, you pulled it as tight as you physically could to stop any more blood loss. _

_Austin moaned in pain and mumbled a few words you couldn’t understand. When you looked up to call for help, the butt of a gun connected with the back of your head, effectively knocking you out. _

_You woke up here._

_“It was a trap,” Austin said, voice rough and quiet. _

_“We’re gonna get out of here, okay?” you promised. “Half of the fucking Army is probably looking for us right now.”  
_

After what felt like hours, someone came in to remove your blindfold. You could finally get a good look at Austin, and it made your heart pound in your ears. He didn’t look good. Things would get ugly if he didn’t get proper medical attention soon. 

“Whatever you want, I’ll give it to you,” you said immediately. “Just let me help him.”

A man dressed in all black began to yell at you in Arabic. You could only make out a few words — work, plan, and money. He paused, most likely to give you time to answer. When you didn’t, he punched you across the face.

“No,” Austin said weakly. “Stop it.”

You spat some blood onto the floor, your entire head throbbing. “Don’t worry,” you said, then looked to your attacker. “I can take it.”

_ **Present Day** _

“They didn’t get anything out of me by punching,” you said, staring at the light above your bed. You sounded detached, like you were talking about a movie you watched rather than recalling the worst day of your life. You supposed that’s how you coped with it — you pretended it wasn’t real, that it never really happened. “Even when they brought in someone who spoke English, I didn’t talk.”

You sighed, running a hand through your hair. You adjusted the bed to a sitting position awhile ago, but you still felt vulnerable.

“You can stop,” Spencer offered, gently taking your hand. It was taped up and gloved, as it was the hand they put an IV in, so his touch was more delicate than usual. 

You shook your head. “I want to tell you everything,” you promised. “It’s just hard to think about. It’s hard to remember.” You took in a breath. “When the punching didn’t work, they moved on to whipping. And when that didn’t work…”

_ **Syria, 2015** _

*******

Your back stung and your head throbbed. You hoped that eventually, you’d pass out, but unfortunately, that didn’t happen. Either your pain tolerance was too high, or the breaks they took between the methods of torturing were enough to keep you conscious.

“Get her on the ground,” one man growled. 

You groggily put together that there were three men in the room, all of them equally pissed. They probably thought you’d be easy to crack. 

The fresh wounds on your back hurt even more when they connected with the dirt; you could practically feel the infection in your skin forming. You gritted your teeth, barely able to refrain from making noise. You didn’t want to give them the satisfaction. 

Just when you thought it couldn’t get any worse, someone began to pull down your pants. In that very moment, you prayed for a heart attack, for your body to give out completely. This, on top of everything else? You wouldn’t be able to take it.

“That’s enough!” Austin shouted, so loud that it practically shook the walls. “I’ll tell you what you want to know. Just get the hell away from her.”

Austin gave up the location of the base, as well as other details they wanted, like what patrols and other missions had been scheduled. Apparently, all they wanted was to get the upper hand, strike before Austin or anyone else’s task force could. It made you wonder what they did when information was time-sensitive.

They slammed the heavy door behind them, and immediately, you burst into tears. You rolled onto your side and curled into a ball, shirt in shreds from the whipping. You stayed in that position for so long that your arm and legs fell asleep, but you didn’t really care. You wanted to feel nothing right about now.

“Y/N,” Austin called, for what was probably the millionth time. You tuned out everything around you, only the sound of static filling your ears.

You sat up lifelessly, a blank stare on your face.

“Come here,” he said.

You crawled over to Austin, your concern for him trumping both the physical and mental pain you were in. It had only been a few hours at most, but he already looked worse. His face was pale, lips dry, and despite the tourniquet, he seemed to have lost quite a bit of blood. 

“What do you need?” you asked. 

“Can you take off my shirt?” He asked.

It was a weird request, but you obliged. You lifted up the hem of his shirt, and carefully, you pulled it above his head. You managed to get it off without having to lift his arms too high.

“Put it on,” Austin instructed.

You smiled through a few new tears. 

It was damp with sweat, meaning it was entirely sanitary, but more than anything, you appreciated the sentiment. You slid it over your head, slipping your arms through each hole. Unsurprisingly, it was massive on you — the sleeves were technically short, but they almost hit your elbow. 

“Sit by me,” he said, tilting his head to the empty space beside him. 

You did as you were told, careful not to lean back and inflict more pain.

“Closer.”

You laughed, wiping your nose as tears streamed down your face. You scooted closer to him, lifting one of his arms and slinging it around your shoulders. You curled into his chest, and despite the sweltering heat, you found comfort in his warmth. 

“Hey, Y/N?” Austin asked, voice raspy.

You looked up. “Yeah?”

“I’m in love with you too.”

It didn’t occur to you, but ‘love’ hadn’t come out of either of your mouths since the night you first admitted it. You spent countless hours in each other’s presence, but it hadn’t come up. You didn’t Austin to say a word in order to prove how much he cared about you — he showed it. It was implied.

And now, it was over.

*******

_ ** Present Day **_  


“It took them 18 hours to find us,” you said. A few tears made their way down your cheek. You wiped them and continued on. “I think Austin died halfway through it.”

The room was so quiet you could hear a pin drop; you thought Spencer was afraid to even breathe. 

“I stayed by his body until someone found us,” you said. “I managed to fall asleep a few times, and every time I woke up, mice were eating his skin. As if his leg being blown off wasn’t bad enough.” you paused. “I think his blood started to spoil. Is that possible? I don’t know. I think the heat was cooking him, though. It didn’t take long for his skin to start rotting.”

Your face contorted, and you stifled a sob. “I wanted to save him, Spencer,” you cried, clutching his hand. “I really did. They just wouldn’t let me.” 

Almost immediately, Spencer joined you on the bed. He pulled you against him, arms tight around you like a barricade. You gripped his shoulders as you cried into his chest.

“None of this is your fault, you hear me?” Spencer said. “None of it is your fault.” 

You weren’t sure how long the two of you stayed like that. Eventually, you stopped sobbing, but the occasional tear still rolled down your cheek. Spencer held you throughout it all.

Eventually, you felt Spencer lift his head from the pillow. You looked up to see the team standing at the nurses’ station. Any other day, you would have pushed him aside and invited them in. Today, though, you just sniffed and moved closer to him.  
Spencer kissed your hair and continued to hold you close. They’d get the memo.

  
_____________________

The hospital kept you overnight for observation, but by daylight, you were discharged with a clean bill of health. Sometime during the night, Emily and JJ swung by to drop you off a change of clothes, which you were eternally grateful for. 

Spencer didn’t leave your side the entire night. He waited outside the bathroom when you changed, he held your hand as you took the elevator ride down to the lobby, and he sat in the middle of the backseat on the cab ride home. You stared out the window the entire time, but you kept a hand on his knee. 

As you stared at the multi-colored, almost bare trees, you realized something: life goes on. People were waking up and heading to their 9-5, and their biggest concern was what to make for dinner later that day. Some of them had a violent or traumatic past, just like you did, but that wasn’t how they lived their life. You and everyone else alive did the same thing: you woke up, and you tried your best. Sometimes, that’s all anyone can do. And that’s enough. 

“The rest of the team is going over to Rossi’s tonight; he’s making spaghetti,” Spencer said as the two of you entered the apartment. “We can go, if you want. Or we can stay here all day. We shouldn’t have a case until tomorrow. Even so, I’m sure Hotch would understand if you took some time off.”

“Spencer?” you asked.

“Yeah?”

“I’m okay,” you promised. “Everything I told you is something I’ve been reliving for the past 2 years. Talking about it didn’t dredge anything up. Actually, if anything, it helped. It’s like… I don’t know, a weight was lifted off of me. I feel like I can start to move on, finally.” 

He smiled faintly. “Good,” he nodded, “I’m glad.” 

You set your arms on his shoulders. “I’d love to go to Rossi’s for dinner,” you said. “But first, I need your help with something.” 

“Anything.” 

You played with your hands. “Ever since I got back, I’ve been thinking of visiting Austin’s family. It took me 6 months to go back to work after what happened — I can’t imagine what it was like for them to lose a child. I thought they needed some time before I brought everything back up. I think I’m ready now. At least, I’m ready if they are.”

“And that’s what you need my help with,” Spencer concluded.

You nodded. “I don’t know how to get in contact with them. Honestly, I was just gonna start by googling them.” 

“Over 45 million members of Generation X use Facebook,” Spencer said. “I think we should start there.”

  
_____________________

“I swear, I am never letting you go,” Garcia said as she hugged you. For someone who was normally so soft, in that moment, she could crush all of your bones. 

“Come on, baby girl,” Derek chuckled, “we all get a turn. And Y/N needs to breathe.”

With a pout, Garcia let go of you. JJ, who was standing next to her, extended her arms. You pulled her into a short but sweet hug. Spencer wasn’t joking: this team was a family. 

“We didn’t get to see you in the hospital!” Emily exclaimed as she wrapped her arms around you. 

“I wasn’t there for long,” you said, pulling away. “Besides, I wasn’t really in the mood for visitors. No offense.” 

“None taken.” 

Derek hugged you next. His massive arms wrapped around you, and as you briefly relaxed into his chest, his chin rested on top of your head. A small, warm smile crossed your face. He was like the older brother you never had. 

“Hey, can I talk to you?” He asked as the two of you parted. 

Though surprised, you nodded. “Yeah, of course. You wanna step outside for a sec?” 

Derek nodded. 

“Don’t be too long!” Rossi called from the kitchen. “The show’s about to begin!”

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world!” you promised. 

As you followed Derek onto the porch, you noticed Spencer talking to Hotch. You gave him a small wave, which he returned with a look of confusion. You raised your index finger, a silent way of telling him you’d be just a second.

“What’s up, Derek?” you asked, closing the door behind you.

“Are you okay?” He asked. “And I mean really okay, not the ‘okay’ that gets you out of a conversation.” 

You took a few steps, resting your arms on the porch railing. “I think I am,” you said, looking over your shoulder. “Why do you ask?”

Derek moved to stand beside you. He pressed his palms to the smooth wood. “Maybe you didn’t see us at the hospital, but we saw you,” he said. “I’ve never seen someone who was so sad to be alive.” 

“It wasn’t that,” you promised. “I mean, it was for awhile, but not anymore.”

“What’s going on?” Derek pressed, bumping you shoulder with his. “Something’s eating at you. I can tell.” 

“I lost a friend,” you said simply, “when I was in Syria. I watched him die.”

“I’m sorry,” he said softly, setting a hand over yours. “That’s awful.”

“It was,” you agreed, “and ever since I got back, I’ve been trying to figure out why I’m alive and he isn’t. He had a set of happily married parents and two beautiful sisters to come home to. I’m an only child, and my father was six feet under. He had so many people that cared about him — the only person who would have really missed me was my mom. It didn’t seem fair, ya know?”

He nodded. “I know. Believe me, I know.” 

Derek shifted his footing. You nudged his shoulder.

“Something’s eating at you: I can tell,” you joked.

He chuckled softly. “Fair enough.” He paused. “I watched my dad die. One day, he picked me up early from school. I asked him if we could go to the convenience store. When we got inside, there was a woman being robbed. My dad was a cop, so he stepped in, hoping he could diffuse the situation. The robber shot him.”

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, squeezing his hand. “How old were you?”

“10,” Derek answered. “It took me a long time to move on; I was lost without my father. I thought if I had toughed it out until the bell rang, maybe my dad would still be alive. The older I got, though, the more I realized that it didn’t matter. What matters is what I do about it. So, I shaped up. I started solving problems instead of creating them. Maybe I’m biased, but I like to think I did an okay job.”

“You did an amazing job,” you said with a smile. “You’re a good man, Derek Morgan. Your father would be proud of you.”

“So would yours,” Derek returned. He slung an arm over your shoulders, pulling you close to kiss the top of your head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I stole that entire MRE scene from _[this episode](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oaVtYPR8pmI)_ of Good Mythical Morning, but it was too good to not use. Definitely check out that video — it's hilarious.
> 
> Maybe this is just me, but I got so attached to Austin; I felt horrible for killing him off in such a morbid way :( he deserved better.
> 
> Like what you read? Leave a comment! It keeps me inspired to write :D
> 
> Until next time... xx


	9. What a Mess I Leave

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I officially have the entire series outlined, and it honestly makes me kind of sad :( 
> 
> When I first started this fic, I thought it would be a oneshot, maybe a oneshot and a sequel, tops. I didn't think anyone would read it, much less take an interest in it. So, I know I've said this a million times, but thank you for reading. it means the world to me, and I hope you love what's to come. 
> 
> Now, with the sappiness out of the way... Enjoy! 
> 
> Title Song: [x](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GnkzvAXWV-0)

“We’ve already been over this a hundred times,” you said. You tugged at your blouse; you chose a bad day to wear this shirt. 

“This will be the last time,” Hotch assured.

“We need your entire testimony on tape,” Strauss continued. While they both sounded professional, Strauss’s had a certain… edge. It lacked the almost undetectable understanding in Hotch’s.

You sighed. “Dr. Reid, Agent Morgan and myself were told to investigate Professor Nichols’s house. Reid and Morgan waited in the yard like they were told. I walked around the perimeter of the house, and I found his lab. I found Nichols’s body, and I also found the broken vial of anthrax. I sealed off the door the moment I realized. I take full responsibility for what happened.” 

“Unfortunately, it isn’t that simple,” Strauss said, pinching the bridge of her nose. “You directly disobeyed orders, and consequently, you endangered both your team and the Bureau's reputation.”

You frowned. “That sounds like it’s exactly my fault.” 

“If this went to court, it wouldn’t be,” Hotch clarified. “You haven’t been formally trained for terrorist and chemical warfare situations.”

“Court?” You asked. “That’s what this is about?” 

“We’re all incredibly lucky for the positive outcome of the Nichols-Brown case,” Strauss said, “but it could have ended very differently.”

“If I died, maybe,” you shrugged, “but I didn’t. So I have to admit, ma’am: I don’t really see the problem here.” 

“The problem, Miss Y/L/N, is that the Bureau would have been held responsible for your death,” Strauss said. “You were hired as medical staff — you had no business being at that house in the first place.” 

“Okay, wow,” you laughed in surprise. “First of all, my background isn’t only in medicine; I served in an active warzone for 18 months. Before I was discharged, I was held hostage and tortured. Second of all, medical staff or not, my insight was integral to solving that case.”

“If you hadn’t discovered what you did —” 

“I did,” you interrupted Strauss, which may very well be the stupidest thing you’ve ever done, but all you could see was red. “Ma’am, is there something else you’re trying to say?”

She stared at you for a moment before clearing her throat. “After reviewing the cases you’ve worked, the Director is concerned about your recent behavior.”

“‘My recent behavior’?” You asked. “The hell is that supposed to mean?” 

“The VA sent over your prescription records,” Hotch said. 

“.5mgs of Alprazolam as needed, 175mgs of Sertraline for maintenance,” you confirmed.

“Considering your PTSD diagnosis along with your… erratic decision-making, the Director believes it would be best for you to step back,” Strauss informed.

You smirked, but it wasn’t in amusement. “With all due respect: if he feels that way, tell him to grow a pair and tell it to my face.” 

Strauss’s eyes widened, and you thought for a brief moment, so did Hotch’s.

“I’m sorry?” She asked, in complete disbelief. 

“I’m useful to this team as more than a paramedic — any agent will tell you that,” you said. “I can admit that what I did was reckless and stupid. But when it comes down to it, no more people got hurt. We can sit here and talk about theoretical lawsuits all you want, but at the end of the day, there’s nothing to talk about; the case ended as well as anyone could hope. No one can sue anyone. I did my job, and I did it well. I’m not going to apologize for that.” 

Strauss studied you, still trying to grasp your vocal confidence. “You’re on paid leave until you pass all required training. You’re not to work any cases until then, BAU or not. Understood?” 

“Yes ma’am,” you said before walking out.

“How did it go?”

“About as well as I expected,” you said, shrugging off your coat and hanging it up. “I’m on paid leave until I go through all my training.”

“That’s… great,” Spencer said, letting out a breath of relief. He set his briefcase on your couch while he took off his scarf.

“Honestly? Strauss probably wants me gone,” you said, digging in your fridge for a couple of beers. “I’ll take paid leave any day.”

He frowned, walking around to take a seat on the couch. “What makes you say that?”

You used a bottle opener to pop off the tops of two bottles. You went into the living room, handing Spencer one of the bottles. 

“When I first interviewed, she didn’t seem thrilled with my qualifications, or rather, lack thereof,” you said, taking a sip of your beer. You curled up next to him on the couch. “She’s the reason I have to wear that stupid uniform — it’s her way of telling me and everyone else that I’m a paramedic, not a profiler. Half of that meeting was her telling me I’m a lawsuit in the making.”

“We’re lucky to have you on the team, Y/N, and not just as a paramedic,” Spencer promised, wrapping an arm around you. “Hotch would fight Strauss tooth and nail to keep you on.” 

You smiled softly. “Thanks,” you said, playing with the fingers on his freehand. “Spence, how would you feel about disclosing our relationship to HR?” 

He raised his eyebrows. “That would make things pretty official, don’t you think?” 

“Well, a little over a week ago, you did ask me to move in with you,” you laughed nervously. “Unless we’re not doing that anymore?”

Spencer turned to you, a smile creeping onto his face. “Nothing would make me happier.” 

You returned the smile. You took the beer bottle from his hand, set both of them on the couch, then — quite literally — threw yourself at him. 

Spencer yelped in surprise. He grabbed you in a hug, but the sudden weight change threw off his balance, and the two of you toppled to the ground. You ended up pinned to the floor, laughing underneath your boyfriend. He cut off your laughs with a kiss. 

This… This felt good.

  
_____________________

It took Austin’s mother three days to respond to the message you left her.

Just as Spencer suspected, it was easy for you to find her Facebook profile. Austin mentioned his mother to you a few times, and considering their unusual last name, there weren’t that many profiles to choose from. As if the name wasn’t enough, her second most-recent profile picture was one of Austin. 

Per Spencer’s recommendation, you used your own account to message her; something about people being more willing to trust you the more information they can see. You haven’t actively used the account in years, but it still had all of your basic info — age, hometown, job experience. 

You kept the message brief, simply stating that you served with Austin in Syria, and that if she wanted to call you, she could reach you on your cell phone. No friend request, no graphic details… just a random message out of the blue she had every right to ignore if she felt inclined to do so.

You were drinking coffee with Spencer after some of your training when you received a voicemail.

‘Hello, Y/N. My name is Angela Crow. I got the message you left me,’ she started. 

Janet went on to say that she would love to meet with you in person, if you were willing to do so. She lived with her husband in Seattle — they wanted to be closer to their daughter after losing their son. She thanked you for getting in contact and encouraged you to call back if you wanted to set something up.

A few days later, you were standing in an airport. 

“You know, the last time we did this, it was the other way around,” you said to Spencer as you hoisted one of your two bags onto your shoulder.

You asked Strauss to not schedule any training for a week, telling her you didn’t care if you got paid for it or not. This wasn’t about your work, or the current lack thereof; this was entirely different. This was something you had to do. 

“I wasn’t entirely sure I was in love with you then,” Spencer returned. “I was pretty confident, though.” 

You chuckled. “Yeah, me too.” 

“Are you sure you don’t want me to come with?” He asked. You could only hope it was for the last time.

“Spencer, you have no luggage, and even if you did, a last minute-ticket would put you out at least a grand,” you deadpanned. Then, you took his hand. “I love you, and I wish you could be there. But this is something I have to do alone.” 

He smiled sadly. “I know. I just wish I could help.”

You frowned. “Spencer, you’ve done more for me than you’ll ever know. Besides, I’ll only be in Seattle for two days. Then, I’m spending two days with my mom in Colorado, and then I’ll be back home. You’ll be assigned a case as you won’t even realize I’m gone.” 

“Not possible,” he said, pulling you into a hug. 

You hugged him tightly. You felt him rest his chin on your shoulder, then his lips, then his chin again; it was his trademark. It made you smile. 

When you felt your eyes start to well up, you pulled away. 

“Go, get out of here,” you chuckled, “or else I’m gonna lose it.” 

He set a hand on your cheek and placed a soft kiss on your lips. When he pulled away, you wanted nothing more than to pull him back towards you. You knew you had to let him go, though. You had to let him go if you ever wanted him to be fully yours. 

“Goodbye,” he said softly, before walking away.

He made it a few yards before turning back to you to say something. 

“What?” you asked. People were staring, but you didn’t care.

He cleared his throat, moving a little closer. “I always have a go-bag in my car.”

You smiled. “Of course you do.” 

He grinned before waving you goodbye and walking off, this time, for real.

You spent the first day in Seattle walking around. You passed a few tourist attractions and entered a few shops, but for the most part, you simply took in the city. It was below freezing point, so the infamous Seattle rain became a thin blanket of snow that draped the entire town. You stayed bundled up in your jacket and occasionally took refuge in a cafe, ordering a coffee or tea and something small to eat. You stumbled across a used bookstore, and you managed to find a biography of Edgar Allen Poe. You bought it as a gift for Spencer. 

You eventually took a cab back to your hotel room, texted Spencer that you were turning in for the night, and laid down in bed. And yet, despite your exhausting day of both travel and walking, you weren’t tired. Physically, you were exhausted, but your mind was racing.

You sat in a local cafe called Prim and Proper, tapping the side of your mug anxiously. Mr. and Mrs. Crow offered to meet up here, as it was one of their favorite spots in the city. It was a smart rouse — no chance in hell would you have gone to their house right away. Your instincts simply didn’t allow it. 

“Y/N?” Someone asked hesitantly. 

You looked up to see a middle-aged couple observing you. By physical appearance alone, you could tell they were Austin’s parents. On their own, neither of them appeared to look more like their son: it was a combination of their features that set you off. 

Austin’s hair was jet black, just like his father’s. However, the man in front of you had pale green eyes, unlike Austin’s dark brown ones. He got his eyes from his mother, who’s natural hair color was auburn. He was a perfect blend of both of them; you wondered if his sister turned out the same way. 

You smiled courteously, taking a stand and sticking out a hand. “It’s nice to finally meet you.” 

Rather than shaking your hand, Janet lowered it. A bit of panic set in. However, you soon realized she only did this so she could hug you.

Though initially startled, you eventually wrapped your arms around the petite woman. Austin must have inherited his height from his dad. 

“I’m sorry,” Janet said, pulling away with watery eyes. “It’s really nice to meet you too, is all.”

“We’ve heard a lot about you,” Austin’s dad — James — clarified.

“Really?” you asked, taken aback. “I had no idea Austin even mentioned me.”

The two of them shared a look. 

“Please, sit down,” you said, gesturing to the booth across from you.

You didn’t think you could laugh so hard with strangers.

After some awkward small talk, the conversation seemed to pick up naturally. To your surprise, it was more than bearable — you could actually say you were enjoying yourself. It was like once the three of you started basking in the lighter memories, it was impossible to stop.

“Was he still a foodie overseas?” Janet asked.

“Oh, absolutely,” you laughed. “This one time, he put clam chowder on a sandwich. Sometimes, he’d trade men in his unit for random shit, throw it together, and eat it. I think he did it to get a rise out of me.” 

“Did it work?” James asked, chuckling.

“Of course! Some of the stuff he came up with was disgusting.”

“That sounds like Austin,” Janet agreed, wiping a tear of laughter from her eye. “I can see why he loved you so much.”

Your heart skipped a beat. “H-he said that? He said… love?” 

James nodded. “All the time. After the two of you got together, every call he made home was to talk about you.”

“‘Mom, you’ll never guess what Y/N said’, ‘she’s so pretty’, ‘she’s the one’...” Janet reminisced. “He was head over heels.” 

“Wow,” you said. “I… I never knew. I mean, I loved him too, I told him, but he only told me once, and it was before…” You trailed off. 

The two exchanged another look. It made you uncomfortable, as it felt like you were being left out of something.

“You didn’t know?” James said. 

“...Didn’t know what?” 

Janet shrunk back in her seat. “The last call Austin made to us was three days before he died,” she explained. “He said he didn’t have much time to talk, but he told me to check my email.”

You frowned. “Your email? What did he send you?”

“A picture and an order form,” James picked up. 

“I don’t understand…” you said, clueless. “An order form for what?”

With a sniffle, Janet reached into her coat pocket. She briefly set her hand on the table, pulling it back to reveal a small, black box.

“A ring,” Janet whispered. “He was going to ask you to marry him, Y/N.” 

It felt like all of the blood in your body disappeared. Your face went cold, your hands were numb, and sweat began to break out on your forehead. 

“Y/N?” James asked, concerned. “Are you okay?”

“I can’t be here,” you muttered. You fumbled for your wallet, tossing whatever bills you could find onto the table. “I’m sorry, I can’t do this.” 

You heard them protest, but by that time, you were already halfway across the cafe, making a beeline for the door. You were halfway down the street when you heard the couple stumble out of the cafe.

“Y/N, please, wait,” Janet pleaded.

“We’re sorry for springing it on you,” James said. “Please, come back inside. We can talk.”

“I’m sorry for your loss,” you said as you turned around, “but I didn’t come here so I can fall in love with your son again. It’s been 3 years — I’ve moved on. I’ve met someone. He’s kind, and incredibly smart, and… alive. And I love him. I thought meeting the two of you could finally close this chapter of my life. Because I’m ready for that. I’m ready for it to be over. I’m sorry, but… I can’t.”

You continued walking, and this time, no one stopped you.

You ended up walking back to the hotel rather than hitching a ride of some sort. Halfway through your trek, snow began to fall. Small, white flakes got caught in your hair and eyelashes; they settled on you coat briefly before melting. It felt oddly fitting.

You sat in your hotel room for a few hours, the TV on as white noise as you stared out the window. You’d been cradling the same cup of tea the entire time, taking only a few sips every once in a while. You reheated it at least three times, but you had yet to add any more water. 

You didn’t think that one day, you might be married. You didn’t think you’d ever find someone who’d want to spend the rest of their life with you. You’ve thought about kids and settling down, yes, but something about marriage seemed so… official. It didn’t seem right. 

The more you thought about it, though, the more you realized something: you would’ve said yes. 

Austin was conventional, but everything about your relationship with him wasn’t. You met in a warzone and shared kisses behind closed doors. It only took a few months for the two of you to know each other inside and out. So, had a sweet Texan boy who once stole your heart asked if he could keep it, you would have agreed. 

That probably scared you more than anything else.

You heard a knock at the door. 

You stood up with a frown, setting your mug on the end table. You crossed your arms and leaned in to the peephole, sighing in both relief and anxiety when you realized who was on the other side. 

“Mr. Crow…” you said as you opened the door.

He raised a hand. “Hear me out. Please.”

After a moment of consideration, you stepped aside to let him in. 

“You used both locks,” James recalled as he took off his coat. “Austin did the same thing every time he came back. I guess what they say is true — you never come home the person you left as.” 

You decided to humor him. 

“I put a padlock on my apartment door,” you admitted. “I put an extra lock on the bedroom door too. Just in case.” 

He nodded in understanding.

“We thought you knew,” he said quietly. “I swear, we thought he asked you. In fact, we thought that’s why you decided to talk to us in the first place.” 

You shook your head sadly. “I had no clue. I just… as selfish as this sounds: I wanted to put this all behind me. I have a boyfriend who wants me to move in with him. We’ve talked about having kids. I have a new job and I’m going back to school. I’m not the same person I was in Syria, or even Colorado. What happened with Austin is a part of me, and a part of me will always love him, but I don’t let it consume me anymore.”

“I understand,” James said. “But… can I be honest with you?” 

“It’s preferred.”

He chuckled sadly. “Janet wanted this to be the start of something. She’s thought a lot about you, even if she won’t admit it. She’s always wondered what you were like, if you were as amazing as Austin made you out to be. Whenever I’ve confronted her, she’s brushed it off, but I think… I think she’s made up a different world: one where you and Austin are married. A world where he didn’t die and the two of you lived happily ever after.” 

James reached in his pocket. He came back with the ring, which was still in its case. “I wish that world was real. But it just isn’t. We don’t have a son anymore, but we have a daughter. We have grandchildren. I want to think about them; I want to live in what’s real. Janet does too, she just… can’t. She wakes up every morning, sees this ring sitting on the dresser, and spends the rest of the day thinking about Austin. The grief still consumes her, and I think this ring is a part of the reason why.”

“She sees it and lives in possibility rather than reality,” you agreed softly. 

He nodded, then cleared his throat. 

“You said meeting us was selfish,” James continued.

You nodded. “In a way, yes.” 

“Well, it’s my turn to be selfish,” he said, extending his arm. “Take it. I don’t care what you do with it — if you keep it, lock it away, throw it in the goddamn ocean for all I care. Just… please, get it out of our lives.”

Swallowing thickly, you reached a hand out. To your surprise, it was James who hesitated.

“I love my son,” he said, voice cracking.

Tears sprung to your eyes.

“I know,” you whispered, taking the box from his hand. “I do too.” 

You made sure to hold his grasp a little longer than necessary.

  
_____________________

You walked down the stairs in the airport. To your surprise, you saw a line of people holding up neon signs, and all of them were for you. 

“Y/N!” Garcia cheered, frantically waving her sign that read ‘welcome’. Derek stood next to her holding ‘home’, JJ held ‘Y/N’, and Spencer held a sign with three exclamation points. Emily stood next to Spencer and Rossi in the middle. 

You chuckled, approaching your second family. “This is completely unnecessary.”

“Hotch was busy with a case file, but he sends his love,” Garcia continued as if you said nothing. 

“Wait, so you guys just finished up a case?” you asked.

You looked to Spencer, who nodded.

“Oh my god, go home!” You said with a laugh. “This was really sweet, you guys, but seriously, go home. Get some sleep. God knows I will.” 

“I second that,” JJ agreed, handing her sign off to Garcia. Then, she hugged you. “Glad you’re back, Y/N.” 

You waved both JJ and Emily goodbye, as the two of them rode in together. 

“Come on, baby girl,” Derek said, wrapping an arm around Garcia. “Let’s get you home.” 

You took both of Garcia’s signs as well as Derek’s, hugging them both before they left. 

“Need a ride?” Rossi offered.

“Oh, my place is actually on the way to Spencer’s,” you lied. “Thank you, though. Have a good night, Rossi.” 

When the door closed behind Rossi, you pulled Spencer in for a deep kiss. You grabbed him by the tie he was wearing, practically slamming your mouth against his. The two of you made out for a few seconds, before you remembered other people were around who probably prefer not to watch. 

“What was that for?” Spencer asked breathlessly when you pulled away.

You shrugged nonchalantly. “No reason. I missed you, is all.”

He smiled giddily, wrapping an arm around you. “I missed you too.” 

You grinned, shoving a hand in your pocket. Your fingertips grazed the ring case. Your smile faded ever so slightly.

  
_____________________

Most of the training you went through may as well have been called ‘common sense’; most of it was merely a fancy way of saying ‘wait for backup, you’re underqualified.’ Whether it was a bomb threat or a terrorist attack, you and all the other rookie agents learned the bare minimum. Really, this was stuff you could only learn on the field, in the moment. Thankfully, you’ve lived through most of it already. 

“You seriously already work for the BAU?” Marcus asked, in awe.

You nodded, taking a sip of your water. 

It was another 6-hour session, and by noon, you and the rest of the class were on a lunch break.

“What the hell are you doing here, then?” Another student, Jessica, asked.

“I was hired as a paramedic,” you clarified. “The BAU is nonstop, so I haven’t really had the chance to get properly trained.”

“If you aren’t trained, how did you talk your way into working on the field?” Marcus asked.

“The Unit Chief offered me a job,” you said nonchalantly. “I served in the military before becoming a paramedic, so he knew I was capable.”

“That still doesn’t explain why you’re here,” Jessica pointed out.

“It’s so the Bureau can cover all their bases,” you replied. 

“You mean so they know you can’t sue them?”

You smirked. “I didn’t say that — you did.”  
Jessica shared the expression. “Understood.” Suddenly, her demeanor changed; her expression went flat and she shrunk in her chair.

“Hello, Jessica,” A familiar voice greeted from behind you.

“Hello, Chief Strauss,” she returned. 

You turned around, greeting her. “Ma’am.”

“May I speak to you a moment?” She asked.

Nodding, you stood up. “Be right back,” you said to your table with a wink.

Strauss led you down a hallway, away from the commons and inhabited offices. It was just the two of you and a flickering lightbulb. 

“Do you know why I was offered this job, Y/N?” She asked.

You shook your head. “No, ma’am.” 

“Because I was just like you — I was just as stubborn as I was ambitious. I was passionate, and quick on my feet, but I could be hard-headed, especially when it came to my superiors. I felt trapped, like I was being forced into a role that didn’t quite fit.”

“How does this apply to me, ma’am?” 

She sighed. “I want to apologize for the way I treated you in the past.”

You raised your eyebrows. “Seriously?” 

“Rather than viewing you as an asset to the BAU, I saw you as a liability. I got caught up in the technical side of things; I cared more about how it would look on paper than what good it could do for the department. I did the very thing that pissed me off as a young agent. And for that, I’m sorry.” 

You smiled softly, outstretching your hand. She shook it briefly. 

“I heard you’re persuing a degree in Psychology,” Strauss continued.

“I am,” you confirmed.

“Well, when you graduate, the BAU would be lucky to hire you as a profiler,” she said. “Agent Hotchner already speaks highly of you.”  
“Thank you, ma’am.”

She made it halfway down the hallway before turning back to look at you.

“Y/N?”

“Yes, Chief?” You asked.

“If you ever speak to me like you did in that meeting again, you can kiss this and any future job goodbye.”

You chuckled. “Understood.”

  
_____________________

“Is this really everything?” 

“For the last time, Spencer: yes, this is everything I own.” 

Just as you had packed up your Jeep to move out to Virginia, you had done it once again. Only this time, your belongings were moving to the other end of town rather than halfway across the country. 

“What about photos? It’s said that photography is the simplest and most effective way to add character to a space.”

You slammed the trunk shut. “My mom has all of my pictures back in Colorado. I have a photo of her in my wallet.”

You decided to leave out the photograph of Austin you kept hidden away in a keepsake box. 

“Shoes?” He asked dumbly. “On average, American women own 19 pairs of shoes.”

“What the hell am I supposed to do with 19 pairs of shoes?” you asked. “I have work shoes, dress shoes, and my boots.”

Spencer smiled sheepishly. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled, “I just can’t believe you can pack up your entire life into a single vehicle.” 

“It’s okay,” you promised, setting your arms on his shoulders. “Most people don’t get it.”

He leaned down, pressing a kiss to your lips while his hand reached up to cradle your cheek. “You don’t own any books,” he whispered after pulling away. He kept close, though, so close that neither of you opened your eyes. “I find that truly upsetting.”

You laughed, kissing him again. After managing to pull yourself away, you opened the trunk again. “Speaking of books…” you said, flipping open a box and reaching in. You came back with something wrapped in a bow. “I forgot to give this to you when I got back from Seattle.”

You handed Spencer the Edgar Allen Poe biography. He carefully removed the ribbon, running his fingers over the cover.

“You’ve probably read it already, but I thought it looked cool,” you said. “Besides, I thought once you’re done with it, you could loan it to me.” 

“If I start on the car ride, I’ll be done with it by the time we reach the apartment.” 

“Show off. You want to read my Sociology textbook while you’re at it? I have a paper due Wednesday.” 

Spencer chuckled. One hand found your waist, pulling your body against his.

“I’ll get right on it,” he promised.

“Good,” you hummed, tracing his lips with your finger.

Who needs a ring when you have this?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thought we were done with the Austin/Syria plotline? Never.
> 
> What did you guys think? let me know! Feedback keeps me inspired to write <3
> 
> Until next time... xx


	10. Make This Go On Forever

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a little shorter than the others, but it's still almost 4k, so I don't feel that bad lol.
> 
> Title Song: [x](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MRPfh_DaMlI)

“No special uniform?”

You smiled, setting your bag on your chair. 

After 2 weeks of intensive training, you were officially certified and capable in the eyes of the FBI. You and everyone else on the team knew you’ve been capable since the start; the only difference is now, the Bureau can’t be held legally responsible if you get hurt on the job. 

For the first time since you were hired, you came in wearing your normal attire — black pants, a fitted grey t-shirt, and a pair of boots. You kept your badge clipped to a belt loop, and it was the only accessory you wore identifying you as a paramedic. No more sticking out like a sore thumb. 

“Now that I’m a Federal Agent, I don’t have to,” you answered Derek’s question. 

You brushed past the man, pouring yourself a cup of coffee. You looked into the bullpen to see Spencer sitting at his desk, lost in thought. You felt him leave early in the morning — something about getting a jumpstart on paperwork. 

He looked tired. You reminded yourself to bring him a fresh coffee later. 

“What’s going on?” Emily asked as she entered the kitchenette. 

“Y/N is a Federal Agent now,” Derek boasted.

“Well, congratulations, Agent Y/L/N,” Emily said. She offered you her mug in a toast.

With a chuckle, you clinked your mug against hers, doing the same to Derek’s when he offered. 

“Ah! Good,” Penelope exclaimed from across the room. Her heels clicked on the platform looking over the bullpen. “You’re all here. We have a case.”

You sat between JJ and Emily at the briefing table. You scrolled through the files on the tablet in front of you, reading some of the police reports while you waited for Hotch and Garcia to enter.

“Hey, are you gonna be okay?” JJ asked in a low voice.

You frowned, looking up at her. “Why wouldn’t I be?” 

“Spencer mentioned you went to visit a friend a few weeks ago,” she specified. “Said the two of you served together?”

You nodded. “Yeah, I did.”

“And everything went… fine? Good?”

You nodded again, smiling faintly. “It was good. I learned a lot about him, actually.”

JJ smiled as well. “I’m glad,” she said, patting your shoulder. “And I’m glad you’re back, too.” 

“Sorry for the delay,” Hotch apologized as he entered the room. “Let’s get started.”

Garcia was already at the end of the table, picking up the remote and clicking a few of it’s buttons. “Two men have been killed on the Southside of Chicago in the last ten days. The first is Michael Crowley — he was a repairman who was out late jogging one night. Second, Anthony Rango. He was a convenience store owner.” 

“No known connection between them,” Hotch interjected.

“Both men were beaten to death; Rango suffered a crushed larynx and something called a lefort fracture?”

“It’s a bilateral horizontal facial injury,” you specified.

“Looks like there was also some blunt force trauma to the back of the head,” Derek said. 

“So they were blitz attacked to gain control, then it was essentially fisticuffs,” Spencer theorized. 

“And they were both literally caught with their pants down,” Garcia said. “Like, literally, their pants and boxers were pulled down to their ankles.”

“But there’s no signs of sexual assault or robbery,” you stated. 

“So it was a message,” Rossi concluded.

“Either they led personal lives, or someone wanted to symbolically demean or embarass them,” Hotch said. “With this level of hands-on violence, this UnSub is filled with rage, and he’s probably just getting started. Wheel’s up in 30.”

“Wow,” Derek said, walking into the convenience store. A rack of bread and chips was knocked over, product spewn across the floor and crushed under the weight of either the metal or a body. There was a smear of blood on the floor that lead to the frame. 

“Rango put up a fight,” you noted. “It looks like he regained consciousness at some point, probably soon after the initial attack.”

“He put up a hell of a fight,” Derek agreed. He pulled his phone out of his pocket, dialing a number and putting the device to his ear. “Baby girl, see if the convenience store owner had any military training.”

After a brief conversation, Derek thanked Garcia and hung up.

“So we were right?” You asked.

“But to intentionally pick a fight with a martial artist?”

You shrugged. “It’s possible he didn’t know. Rango could have been a victim of opportunity, like the jogger was.”

“Looks like our guy needed a drink after the beatdown,” Derek said, gesturing to the wine bottles on the floor. “He must’ve worn gloves, otherwise CSI would have taken them in for prints.” 

You looked up at the ceiling to notice a security camera. You went behind the counter, grabbing a napkin as you went. 

“He could have been an addict,” you said, pressing ‘eject’ on each DVD tray that hooked up to the surveillance system. “It would explain the impulsive behavior.” 

Derek clicked a few buttons on the cash register behind you. “You ever met an addict that left a full register?”

Each tray came out empty.

“He stole the discs before he left,” you said. “He was mission-oriented.” 

“Soda and candy were the last things bought,” Derek said, reading a receipt.

“Kids, probably,” you mentioned. “They’re lucky they didn’t get hurt.”

The two of you began poking around the store, looking for details that local law enforcement may have missed. You mostly stayed behind the counter while Derek paced around the sales floor.

“Is it true you grew up around here?” you asked, looking through a few binders you found under the register. 

“5 blocks away,” Derek confirmed. “We passed the park I played football at on the way here. The corner down the street is where I played kissy-face with my first girlfriend.” 

“How old were you?”

“Ten.”

You laughed softly, then considered. “How did you make it out of here?” 

He looked up. “What do you mean?” 

You shrugged. “Junction City isn’t very big — after awhile, it felt like the Army was my only option. Which I was fine with, but… I don’t know. Chicago is a big city, but Southside seems to be a world of its own. I’m just curious how a cute little black boy from Chicago turned into one of the Bureau’s finest agents.” 

Derek scoffed with a smile. “Believe me — I wonder too.” 

His phone rang in his pocket. After taking off a glove, Derek answered it. “Hey, what’s up? Find anything at the diner?” 

Pause.

“What’s it say?”

His entire demeanor changed. His gaze darted around the store, absentmindedly lowering his phone. 

“Give me a second,” Derek mumbled into the phone.

“Derek?” you asked, coming out from behind the counter. “What’s wrong?”

Without answering, Derek stood up and walked over to the front door. He partially pulled down the security curtain, which was made of solid metal. 

“I gotta go,” Derek said before hanging up.

“‘Look up to the sky?’” you read the painted-on words. “Does that mean something to you?”

“Let’s go,” was all Derek said before ducking under the curtain and exiting the store.

“I know what this is about,” Derek said, walking into the room the station reserved for the team.

Spencer, Hotch, and Rossi had been there the whole time, while Emily and JJ seemed to have just gotten back from the diner. You followed Derek into the room, completely unaware of what was happening.

“This is about Carl Buford,” Derek stated.

Like in most situations, you gradually moved over until you found yourself next to Spencer; he was leaning against a table off to the side. You decided to simply stand next to him, your arms folded across your chest.

“Who’s Carl Buford?” you whispered, making sure Derek couldn’t hear you.

“A serial killer and molester,” Spencer said. “We arrested him almost seven years ago for the murders of three prepubesent African-American boys. He framed Derek for the last murder he committed.” 

“Carl Buford is in prison serving a life sentence,” Hotch reminded. 

“‘Look up to the sky’ is what he used to tell me,” Derek said. “Buford was an expert… at spotting and exploiting vulnerabilities of adolescent boys that he coached at the community center. He had the entire community center thinking he was a hero — parents, teachers… cops. Everyone. After my dad died, he locked onto me. And he manipulated me into compliant victimization. I’ve told you how I got into it with a local gangbanger when I was younger. Well, somehow, Buford got it expunged. I didn’t understand why a guy who barely knew me would do that. But… Buford gave me his time. He taught me how to play football. And then, one day… he took me to his cabin on the lake.”

“Morgan, you don’t have to do this,” Hotch said.

“They need to know, Hotch,” he disagreed. “They need to know this guy’s M.O.”

The room was dead silent.

“Buford built up my trust,” Derek continued. “And then he would lower my inhibition… with Helgason wine. And then… he would molest me. And everytime he saw that dead look in my eye that said I wanted him to stop, he would just say ‘you better man up, boy. Look up to the sky.’”

“Did you ever tell anyone about that phrase?” you asked gently.

He shook his head. “No.”

“We’re probably looking at someone Buford abused,” Rossi said. 

“The victim could harbor a great deal of anger if he didn’t deal with his own abuse,” Hotch agreed. “With the right trigger, it could develop into this kind of rage.” 

“Buford ran the community center for years,” Spencer said. “An offender like him could have hundreds of victims.” 

“Let’s talk victimology: each of these men had interactions with kids right before they were killed,” Hotch said. 

“The killer switched from white victims to African Americans,” Rossi noted.

“You’d think if they were surrogates, he’d kill only black men,” Hotch agreed, already punching a number into his phone. “Garcia? I need you to compile a list of boys who played football at the community center twenty to thirty years ago.”

  
_____________________

“Excuse me, ma’am?” someone asked. 

You turned around to see an officer you didn’t recognize. He was middle-aged, but young compared to most of the other men on the force. “What can I do for you?” 

“You’re with the FBI, right?” 

You nodded. “That’s right.”

“Detective Gordinski wants these handed to your supervisor,” he said, giving you a file. “Nothing important, just paperwork, really.”

“Thanks,” you said anyways.

He was silent for a moment, then chuckled. “You know, I became a cop to get away from crazy shit like Afganistan. Apparently, I can’t outrun it.”

He tried to walk away, but your interest was peaked.

“You served?” you asked.

“Two tours,” the officer confirmed. “I was discharged after an IED went off and made me lose hearing in my right ear.”

“I was in Syria for 18 months,” you said.

His face lit up. “No way. What’d you do?”

The army had a weird way of bringing people together.

“I was a medic,” you replied. “I was hired on this team as a paramedic, actually. I worked as one for a few years after I got home.” 

“Goddamn,” he whistled. “It’s hard to find girls like you…?”

“Y/N,” you answered.

“Jacob,” he said, offering you a hand.

You shook his hand, smiling faintly. You saw Jacob wink at you before walking away, but you didn’t see JJ, Emily, and Spencer watching you from the next room.

  
_____________________

Back when Buford managed the center, everything was on paper, which meant Garcia unfortunately couldn’t help. JJ and Spencer ended up combing through the community center’s paper records, only to find gaps. They presumed Buford destroyed some of the files before he was sent to prison. The two of them were only able to come up with a partial list of names. 

Derek was incessant; he was the first one to suggest visiting Buford. Hotch was reluctant, instead opting for JJ to attempt a memory recall. It didn’t work, which meant you were back to zero in terms of leads. Derek eventually wore Hotch down, but on the condition that he’d go with Derek. You jumped in, saying you’d tag along.

“What?” you asked. “Garcia would, if she were here. I figured I’m the next best thing.”

You and Hotch watched as Derek sat across from Buford. They were across the cafeteria, and you were behind a window, so it was hard to completely make out what they were saying. Eventually, though, You saw Derek get up and stand against the wall while Buford wrote names down on a pad of paper. They ended the conversation with a handshake. You could see the fire behind Derek’s eyes. 

“I’m gonna use the head before we leave,” Derek said after handing off the list to Hotch. He walked down the hall and to the bathroom. You waited a few minutes before following him. 

Basically all of the inmates were in the yard, which meant the floor was almost completely empty, even from guards. So, when you heard gagging come from the bathroom, you had a feeling you knew who it was. 

You opened the door, stepping in silently and turning the corner. Sure enough, Derek was hunched over the sink. He flipped on the faucet, bringing some water to his mouth.

“Are you okay?” you asked softly.

“You shouldn’t be in here,” he replied gruffly. 

You sighed, leaning against the counter. “You know that friend I mentioned? The one that died in front of me while I was deployed?”

“I remember,” Derek confirmed after a moment. 

“He wasn’t just my friend — he was my boyfriend,” you said, “and he died in front of me because we were being held captive. 

“He stepped on an IED. It blew his leg off. I ran out to help him, and I was knocked out cold. We were under fire, so no one realized we were gone until it was too late. They weren’t stupid — they knew he would die if he didn’t get proper medical attention. So, they sat him in the corner of the room, and they made him watch what they did to me.”

“You don’t have to do this, Y/N,” Derek said. 

“I know,” you promised. “You’re my friend. I want you to know. But mostly, I want you to know you’re not alone.” 

He shut off the water, standing up straight. “What did they do to you?”

“They started by punching. When that didn’t work, they moved onto whipping, and when that didn’t work, they laid me on the ground. My pants were halfway down my legs before Austin had enough. He told them everything they wanted to know. And, a few hours later, he was dead.” 

You laughed sadly, holding back the tears that threatened to spill. “You wanna know the worst part? A few weeks ago, I found out he was gonna propose to me. He had the ring made and everything. It’s sitting in a box in my closet — his parents couldn’t stand to look at it anymore.” you wiped your eyes. “I mean, seriously dude, compared to my life, yours is a cakewalk.” 

Derek chuckled. He approached you, pulling you into a hug. You wrapped your arms around him. 

“I’m sorry for what happened to you,” you whispered.

“I’m sorry too,” Derek replied. 

His hand cradled the back of your neck. It was soothing.

  
_____________________

“If you won’t ask him out, I will.”

You looked up at Emily with a frown. “What?”

“Jacob? That police officer from earlier?” 

“What about him?”

“You were totally flirting with him!” JJ said.

You snorted. “No I was not.”

“He winked at you,” Emily disagreed. 

“In some cultures, you’d be engaged,” JJ agreed with Emily.

“I’ll make sure Spencer fact-checks that one,” you said, standing up with a sigh. You refilled your mug with cheap coffee, bringing the pot over for the girls, who still sat at the table reading files.

“Seriously, what’s holding you back?” Emily asked.

“It just seems inappropriate,” you said, which wasn’t entirely a lie. “We’re working a case. It’s unprofessional.”

“That’s why you wait until the case is over,” JJ said, filling her mug. “That’s what Will did. Look how we turned out.”

“I’m not really looking for a relationship right now, you know?” you said. “I’m in love with my work.”

“I hear that,” Emily agreed. “It’s almost impossible to find men that understand that.” 

Spencer walked into the room. You did your best to not react. Still, he paused, assessing the atmosphere.

“What are you guys talking about?” He asked.

“Y/N and the cute police officer she was flirting with,” Emily said, cocking an eyebrow. “Care to join?”

Spencer frowned. “No,” he said honestly. He grabbed something and walked out of the room. 

Emily and JJ shared a laugh. 

“Sounds about right,” JJ chuckled. 

You cleared your throat. “I’m gonna go get the rest of the files,” you said after a beat. You left the room, hoping your intentions weren’t obvious. 

You picked up a stack of files that were sitting on a table opposite of the conference room. Spencer seemed oblivious, simply going back to what he was doing. You approached him nervously. 

“Hey,” you greeted, clutching the files to your chest. “Can we talk?” 

Spencer nodded. 

You walked across the station, eventually finding a hallway that seemed calm and secluded. 

“I wasn’t flirting with him,” you blurted out. “He was flirting with me, but I was only being nice. I didn’t suggest anything, and I didn’t give him any ideas.”

“I believe you.”

A weight lifted off your chest. You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. 

“Really?” You asked hopefully.

“Of course I do,” Spencer assured with a smile. “There are things I’m insecure about, but our relationship isn’t one of them.” 

You reached out, taking his hand. “So we’re okay?” 

“We’re okay,” Spencer promised. He glanced down briefly.

Your face fell. “What is it, Spence?”

“It’s nothing,” he said, rubbing his thumb against the back of your hand. “It’s just that sometimes, I wish we didn’t have to hide. It’s not that I want to make out with you in front of our coworkers —” you both laughed, “ — but it would be nice if we could just… be us around everyone else, you know?”

You reached up a hand to his cheek. “I know,” you said softly. “I love you, and I love our teammates. It’s everyone else at the Bureau I’m worried about. Semantically, there’s nothing anyone can do — we technically work in different departments, me being a medic and you a profiler. But if someone wanted to throw a fit, call it sexual harassment or a waste of taxpayer money… we could lose our jobs.” 

“I understand,” Spencer agreed. “It’s in our best interest to stay quiet. I get that. But that doesn’t change that sometimes it just…”

“...Sucks?” You finished. 

“Exactly.”

  
_____________________

With the help of Garcia and a few previous victims, the team was able to find the UnSub. Just like the profile suggested, Rodney Harris was a former victim of Buford’s. Thankfully, the BAU was able to apprehend Harris before he could hurt his ex-wife, son, and her current husband. 

“For once, I can’t wait to get on that stupid jet,” you said, rolling your head in an effort to stretch your neck. “I’m fucking exhausted.”

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” Emily said as you, JJ, and herself filed out of the conference room.

“Am I?” you asked.

JJ pointed to Jacob. “You forgot to ask him out.”

“You two really aren’t gonna let that go, are you?” you sighed.

“Come on, Y/N!” Emily practically whined. “He’s cute, and handsome, and a cop, and he served in the army, and he likes you. What more could you want?”

“Plus, the case is closed, so it’s not a conflict of interest,” JJ reminded with a smirk. 

The three of you approached the gentlemen on the team, who were clustered in front of the exit. You hoped none of them heard what was going on.

“What’s going on?” Derek asked. 

Dammit.

“JJ and Prentiss are trying to get me to ask out a cop that works here at the station,” you explained.

“Oh la la,” Rossi joked. 

“I’m not interested,” you stated bluntly.

“And yet, you can’t give a good reason why,” Emily pointed out.

You put a hand on your chin, feigning deep thought. “I could ask him out, but here’s the thing… I don’t think my boyfriend would like that very much.” 

A collective hush fell over the group. Emily and JJ looked at each other in shock, while Rossi and Derek simply looked impressed. You swore you saw the remnants of a smirk on Hotch’s face.

“Well, there goes pretty boy’s chance of getting with the new girl,” Derek joked.

“Seems so,” Spencer agreed with a laugh.

“You… you have a boyfriend?” JJ asked, stunned.

“Have since I moved here.”

“Who is he?!” Emily practically shrieked. “Can we meet him? Have we met him?”

“He’s a pretty private person,” you feigned. “I’d have to talk to him about meeting you guys.”

JJ and Emily continued to ask questions, threatening to get Garcia involved. You merely walked out of the station, smiling at Spencer before you left.

  
_____________________

You ended up sitting across from Derek on the jet. Spencer dozed off on the couch, like he normally did. You wished you had the ability to sleep anywhere you wanted. JJ and Emily were entertaining each other while Rossi and Hotch sat across from each other. 

Letting out a breath, Derek put his headphones around his neck. “So… this boyfriend.”

“Ask all you want, man: I’m not gonna spill,” you said.

“Does he know about the ring?” 

Your smile faltered. “No,” you said softly, “he doesn’t. He knows about Austin, but… I haven’t gotten around to telling him yet.” 

“Will you?” Derek asked.

“Tell him? Of course I will. It’s just… I’m still processing it. I don’t want to spring something like this on him while I’m still deciding how I feel.”

He nodded. “That’s fair. Just do both of you a favor and tell him before he buys a ring.”

“What makes you think we’ll get that far?” 

“You’re a good judge of character, Y/N,” Derek said. “You do no harm and take no shit. I can’t see you dating a guy without knowing it’ll go somewhere.” 

You lightly kicked him under the table, then grinned. “Thanks, Derek.” 

He smiled, putting his headphones on and leaning back in his seat.

You stared across the jet, eyes focused on Spencer. He looked so peaceful when he slept — knees pulled up, his arms wrapped around a pillow. You wanted to put his head in your lap and play with his hair like you did whenever the two of you watched a movie together. You wanted to hold his hand, lean your head on his shoulder, kiss his cheek. But when it came down to it, all you could do his watch him across the room and try to forget about the ring. 

Spencer was right: sometimes, it just plain sucked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> God, it's me, ya biggest <s>platonic</s> Derek x reader stan
> 
> Comments + kudos = quicker updates! ;)
> 
> Until next time... xx


	11. Amen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title Song: [x](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uIfxmPeWsFo)

“Our Christmas break starts next week,” Emily said, taking a sip of her drink.

You, her and JJ all walked down a busy sidewalk in DC. You and the three other BAU ladies planned a shopping trip, but about 15 minutes ago, Penelope said to go get some coffee and that she’d be done by the time the three of you got back. 

“I heard the Bureau puts holiday breaks on a cycle?” you said. 

“It’s supposed to keep things fair for each team,” JJ confirmed. “Last year, we had the first week of December, now, we have the second week off, and we’re on-call for the third. Next year, we’ll have Christmas off, guaranteed.” 

“Cool,” you said, drinking your chai latte. You were trying to cut back on caffeine, especially so late. “I guess I don’t care all that much — the only family I want to visit is my mom, and she doesn’t care when we meet up. Plus, the holiday pay is nice.” 

“Spoken like a true single woman,” JJ chuckled.

“Not single, remember JJ?” Emily pointed out. “Y/N has a boyfriend she still refuses to talk about.” 

“God, I forgot you’re such a buzzkill.” 

“Sorry, ladies: I like to keep my private life private,” you said.

“We just want to decide if he’s worthy of you and your love,” Emily said. “Is that really so hard to understand?”

“You wanna talk about boys, Prentiss? Let’s talk about Mick,” you offered.

She grimaced. “Let’s not.” 

“See!” You laughed. “Now you know how I feel!”

“You’re gonna ask him out, right?” JJ asked.

Emily sighed. “I don’t know. He’s not really my type.”

JJ scoffed. “He’s a hot guy with a gun, a badge, and a sexy accent. How is that not your type?”

“It’s a fair question,” you agreed. 

“How about we go back to talking about Y/N’s secret boyfriend?” Emily suggested. 

You and JJ laughed.

“Seriously, though: how are things going?” JJ asked. “You don’t have to tell us who he is. Just… one friend to another. Does he treat you well?”

You smiled. “He treats me like a queen.”

Emily nodded. “Good man.”

“We decided to spend break in Colorado,” you said. “I found a cabin for us to rent. It’s only twenty minutes away from my mom’s house, which is nice.”

“You two share a Christmas break?” JJ frowned.

“He’s taking off next week instead of the week after. His boss is pretty flexible,” you lied. “Besides, he’s a workaholic, just like me. He’ll probably be busy Christmas Day anyways. This works better.” 

“Sounds like he’s made for you,” Emily said. 

“He sounds great,” JJ agreed. “We can’t wait to meet him. When you’re ready, of course.” 

You grinned. “Thanks, guys.” 

JJ caught a glimpse of someone walking down the street. “Oh ,god.”

Garcia was making her way through the sparse crowd, her arms covered with shopping bags from various outlets. “I know what you’re gonna say.”

“Are all of these for my son?” JJ asked, eyebrows raised.

“No,” Penelope said, like she was offended by the mere idea. “...This one is for Kevin.”

She held up the smallest bag on her.

You and Emily laughed. 

“It’s my duty as a fairy godmother to spoil the child! And he’s finally old enough to be fun when opening presents,” She defended. “I’m not returning any of this. Now, give me my coffee and no one gets hurt.” 

“Oh, of course,” Emily said, handing her the extra cup she was holding. “Uh, half-caff, extra-shot, venti, two-pump, nonfat, hold-the-whip caramel macchiato?” 

“Way too many adjectives,” you remarked. 

“Very funny, Y/N, but don’t think you can distract me from that secret boyfriend of yours,” Penelope said, taking a sip. “I’ll crack you eventually. I always do.” 

Garcia’s phone beeped in her pocket. She took it out and read the message with a sigh. “Cracking will have to wait for another day: we have a case.” 

“Saved by the bell, Y/N,” Emily remarked.

“I suppose so,” you chuckled.

  
_____________________

By the time the jet landed back in Virginia, you and the team were exhausted. Alaska was freezing and just like with other cases, it was impossible to rest easy while working the case. Not to mention, it was 4 time zones over, so jumping back to Eastern was more difficult than usual. You hoped you’d get enough sleep before leaving for Colorado in 2 days. 

“Christmas Break starts when you leave,” Hotch announced while everyone was standing around the bullpen. “Enjoy your time off, everyone.”

There was a slew of ‘thank you’s and ‘you too’s. 

You and Spencer ended up staying to do some paperwork. Well, he did some paperwork: you entertained him while he worked. Same difference.

The two of you wished Derek a goodnight as he left. 

“How did you and I end up being the last ones in the office?” you asked.

“Hotch is still upstairs,” Spencer pointed out.

“Hotch practically lives here,” you said. “He doesn’t count.” 

“You’re not wrong,” He agreed. Spencer then glanced around the office. “You know, Hotch knows about our relationship.” 

You raised your eyebrows. “Your point?”

“No one can see us do this,” he said, leaning in to kiss you.

Smiling, you set your hands on his cheeks, pulling yourself closer.

“Wow,” someone said across the room. “Sorry to interrupt.”  
You pulled away in surprise, heart practically jumping out of your chest. Spencer sat back, clearing his throat as his cheeks turned red.

“Derek!” you remarked, voice higher than usual. “Didn’t you leave?”

“I forgot my wallet on my desk,” he answered. “Does your boyfriend know about this?”

You thought the last thing you wanted was someone on the team knowing you’re together. In that moment, though, you realized it wasn’t the last thing you wanted. The last thing you wanted is someone knowing, but not fully knowing. You didn’t want them thinking your relationship was a fling, a way to pass time, or even worse, an affair. If you were going to let someone in, you might as well fully open the door. 

“Uh, yeah, he does,” you said, rubbing the back of your neck nervously. “He’s sitting right in front of me.”

Spencer waved as if he and Derek were meeting for the first time. 

You could see the exact moment Derek’s expression went from confused to enlightened. His face broke out into a grin, his eyebrows relaxed. “My man! Why didn’t you say something earlier?”

“It’s… complicated. We started seeing each other before I even moved here. Most people won’t care about that, though. People see what they want to see.”

“What, you think someone on the team won’t approve?” Derek asked. “Everyone will be thrilled!” 

“We know,” Spencer assured, “but we aren’t the only people who work for the Bureau. The bending of rules can bring out the worst in some people.”

“I’m not gonna say anything if you guys don’t want me to,” Derek promised. “I just… wow,” he chuckled. “It’s starting to all make sense. You chose well, kid.” 

Spencer smiled, taking your hand. “I sure did.”

  
_____________________

Your plan for break was almost the same as your plan for when Spencer flew out to be your plus one: you’d spend a few days in Colorado, then head down to Vegas. Only this time, the two of you would share a flight back to Virginia rather than saying goodbye at the airport. You were almost looking forward to that part, in a weird way. 

The cabin you rented was a few miles out from Junction City, pretty close to the Colorado River. Your memories were slightly tainted for various reasons, including the murders that took place about 8 months prior. It was still as beautiful as ever, though, and the man responsible was in jail. You decided to think about that instead of the bodies you pulled out of the water.

“My childhood home wasn’t far from here — Just a few miles in the opposite direction,” you said as you drove. 

A blanket of snow rested over the town, and the farther up you went, the thicker it got. Thankfully, there was no snow in the forecast. There was no doubt in your mind that you’d get snowed in if there was.

“Did you spend a lot of time on the lake?” Spencer asked.

You nodded. “My dad liked to go fishing. We had a dinky old boat; the motor was practically shot, but we could sit on the water for hours. My dad was pretty good; I never caught anything.” 

“Sounds like fun.”

“In hindsight, it was. Sometimes I would complain, ask why we didn’t do something that was more fun. Looking back, though, I’m glad I got to spend so much time just being around him.” 

“How did he die?” Spencer asked softly.

A few seconds later, you pulled up to the cabin. Your face split into a grin. “We’re here!”

The time you spent in Colorado with Spencer was amazing. You spent your days either playing in the snow or warming up in local cafes. There were quite a few hills around the river, so the two of you would sled and sometimes ski. Spencer turned out to be uncoordinated when it came skiing, so for the most part, you avoided it. 

Every night, you cuddled by a fire you built. With legs intertwined and hearts beating against each other, you thought it was the closest you’ve ever been to bliss. No cases, no phone calls, no dead ex-boyfriend drama. It was just you, him, and the space (or lack thereof) between.

One night, you rolled over, and your arm brushed against the emptiness beside you. You were fully awake immediately, sitting up to realize Spencer was nowhere to be seen. 

You padded out of the master bedroom and into the main living space, which consisted of the kitchen and a wide, open living room. You found Spencer sitting on the far side, in an armchair next to the massive glass panels that made up one wall. The fire was starting to die out, but it’s light still painted amber strips across the room, faintly illuminating his face.

“What are you doing up, Spence?” You asked, crossing your arms in a self-soothing action. 

“Couldn’t sleep,” he answered simply. 

You approached him, taking a seat in his lap. He wrapped his arms around your waist, kissing your neck as you leaned into him. You reached one hand up, brushing back his hair.

“What’s on your mind?” you asked gently. 

“I don’t want this to end,” Spencer answered. “I want to spend the rest of my life with you, in this cabin. I wanna cook with you, watch you start a fire every morning. I want to make this place safe for you.” 

He glanced down at your dog tags, which still hung loosely around your neck. You grabbed them instinctually, running your thumb over the raised letters. You stood up with a sigh.

“There’s something I haven’t told you,” you said quietly. Your back was turned to Spencer — you didn’t want to see the pain you were about to cause him.

“I know,” he responded.

“You really, really don’t,” you said, turning around. 

“I do,” Spencer persisted. He stood up as well, approaching you. He took your hands, holding them at arm’s length. “I heard you talking to Derek on the jet. I heard everything.” 

You frowned. “That was almost three weeks ago. How have you not said anything?”

“It’s none of my business.” 

You let go of his hands. “Why do you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Why are you okay with talking about him?” You asked. You crossed your arms again, this time, as self-defense. “I’m hardly okay with talking about my ex-boyfriend, the first man I ever loved. You hear he was gonna propose to me, and you say it’s none of your business. How? How is it none of your business?” 

“What happened between you and Austin doesn’t change the way I feel about you,” he answered.

“It should!” You argued. “Spencer, if he didn’t die, I would be married to him right now. You’re telling me that doesn’t bother you?” 

“But… he did die,” he said. “He died, and we met and fell in love. I don’t see that as a threat to our relationship. Do you?” 

“No,” you promised. “I love you, now and forever. It’s just that… sometimes, it feels like I’m never going to be good enough for you.”

“What?” Spencer scoffed. “That’s crazy.”

“Losing Austin the way I did really fucked me up, Spencer,” you whispered. “I’ve accepted it. I’ve found a way to cope with it. But it changed me, permanently. And learning he was going to propose to me? That’s changed me, too.” 

You pursed your lips. “I don’t think I’m ever going to get married, Spencer. I was on the fence before, but this… it sealed the deal. I still want kids. I still want to spend the rest of my life with you. But I don’t want a ring. I don’t want a certificate. I don’t want a ceremony and a white dress. I just want you and me and the family we’ll make together. But… if you feel like you’re destined to be someone’s husband, I understand completely.” 

He looked at you, squinting his eyes. “You seriously think I’d break up with you over something as trivial as marriage?” 

“I just want to tell you before you feel like it’s too late to back out,” you said.

“It’s already too late,” he said, setting a hand on your cheek, “because I am madly in love with you, Y/N Y/L/N. There’s no chance in hell you can get rid of me now.” 

You smiled faintly, standing on your tiptoes to kiss him. 

“Come back to bed,” he whispered against your lips.

“In a sec,” you said softly. “I’m gonna put the fire out, maybe get myself something to drink.” 

“Okay,” Spencer said, kissing your forehead. “See you in a bit.” 

You held his hand as he walked away, letting go when your arm extended to its full length. When Spencer disappeared around the corner, you walked over to the fireplace. You used the shovel beside it, scooping some ash over the few red coals. With a puff of smoke, they were extinct. 

You looked over to the armchair Spencer was sitting on moments ago. He left his favorite jacket draped on the back. You rolled your eyes with a smile, picking it up so you could put it away. In the middle of folding it, though, you felt something in one of the pockets. 

With a frown, you dug into the pocket. Your fingers brushed something that felt all too familiar — velvet.

Your heart suddenly in your throat, you wrapped your fingers around the box and pulled it out. You flipped it open, and even in the dead of night, the ring sparkled. 

Spencer was right: it was too late.

  
_____________________

On your last day in Colorado, you made a last minute decision. After packing your bags back into the rental vehicle, Spencer thought your last stop would be the airport. When you took a left where you were supposed to take a right, though, he realized you had something else in mind.

“We’ve seen my mom like, a million times this trip,” you said. “I thought it’s time we saw my dad.” 

The graveyard sat on top of a hill, so it took some time and effort to get there. Snow began to lightly fall around the two of you, the wind pulling you into a cold yet comforting hug. It was as if Mother Nature knew what you were doing and how you were feeling.

Your dad was put to rest in the second to last row. A few yards away stood an old wire fence, which was falling apart at the seams. It stood on the edge of the hill, though, so the view was beautiful. The Eastern side of Junction City sat in the valley, people and cars bustling around on the busy street. If you looked in front of you, you saw endless life. If you looked behind, it was nothing but death.

You took a seat right in front of the tombstone, like you did when you were younger. Taking off your glove, you reached out to touch the engraved letters. 'Robert Y/L/N', it read. 'Loving husband and father. Said goodbye too soon.'

"Hey dad," you said softly, a weak smile making its way onto your face. "It's me again. I know this isn't really you, but it'll have to do for now. You get that, right?"

Of course, you were met with silence.

Casting a glance over your shoulder, you noticed Spencer standing a respectful distance away. You extended your hand, which he accepted. You gently pulled him closer until he was seated beside you.

"This is Spencer," you said. "I love him. And if you could meet him, I think you'd like him too. I'm sorry you never got the chance."

"I'll take care of your daughter, sir," Spencer said. "Don't worry about her."

Spencer wrapped an arm around you. You nestled into his side, closing your eyes when he kissed the top of your head.

You weren't sure how long the two of you stayed like that. You could feel snowflakes land on your face, only to quickly melt and evaporate. Your breath turned from a thin fog to thick clouds. Your cheeks stung and eventually went numb.

When the Sun began to set, Spencer stood and helped you up.

It was time to go.

  
_____________________

Las Vegas was still cold, but it was at least warmer than Colorado. It was low 40s high 30s most days, but there was hardly any snow, so you didn't have to bundle up as severely. Of course, the mountains surrounding the city were painted in white. It reminded you of home.

Unsurprisingly, the two of you spent most of your time with Spencer's mother, Diana. It had been a few months since he last saw her, and she had yet to meet you as his girlfriend rather than his 'friend'.

"Wanna play a round of poker, mom?" Spencer asked after sharing greetings.

"I'd love to beat you at poker," Diana said, pulling a deck of cards out of a pocket in her robe. "Maybe I can teach Y/N a trick or two."

"It is a dream of mine to beat your son at a card game," you said.

Diana grinned and began dealing cards. Once everyone got a change to look at their deck, you were interrupted.

"Dr. Reid?" A nurse asked kindly. "We need you to fill out some paperwork."

"Of course," he said, standing up. He then turned to you. "I'll be right back."

You nodded and smiled.

"So I hear Spencer gets his genius from you," you said to Diana.

She studied her cards. "He had to learn from somewhere, right?"

"He learned from the best," you told her. "At least, that's what he says."

"That's my boy," she said proudly. She then studied your expression. "I know that look."

You furrowed your eyebrows. "What look?"

"The 'everything is fine yet I'm not happy' look."

"Everything is fine, and I'm happy," you disagreed.

"Honey, with how much therapy I've gotten over the years, I'm practically a shrink," Diana said. "What's on your mind?"

You sighed. "Is Spencer the marrying type?"

Diana considered. "Spencer was never a normal kid," she started. "I thought his lack of interest in girls was because of his age — he was always so much younger than the other kids in his class. At some points, I wondered if he was gay. Eventually, though, I realized something: Spencer isn't a normal person. So why would he date like a normal person?

"My son isn't the kind of person who dates around. When it comes to romance, it isn't something he seeks out: it's something he waits for. Looking back, I don't think it was that he wasn't interested in girls. I think he wasn't interested in any girls he met. But then... he met you."

You smiled. "Nothing about that man is typical," you agreed. "It's part of why I love him."

"Are you?" Diana eventually asked.

"I'm sorry?"

"Are you the marrying type?"

You bit your lip. "It's not really something I've thought about. I know I've always wanted kids, and there's no one in the world I want to be with besides Spencer."

"But..." Diana said, a knowing smile on her face.

"But..." you repeated with a chuckle, "I don't need marriage to know that. I guess I just don't see the big deal."

"If you don't see the big deal, why don't you just marry him? You don't have to have a celebration; you can just go to the courthouse and sign the certificate. No fuss, no muss."

You stayed silent.

"Ah, there it is," Diana said. "It is a big deal."

"I guess it is," you ceded.

"Why don't you want to get married, Y/N?" Diana asked.

"There was someone before Spencer," you responded. "Spencer knows. Plus, he's dead, so he's not really any competition. But awhile ago, I learned he was going to propose to me."

Diana let out a low whistle. "That's a lot to deal with. But here's the thing, sweetheart: you've already made a lifelong commitment. A piece of paper recognized by the state is neither here nor there."

"You mind telling your son that?" You joked weakly. "Because I found a ring in his pocket two nights ago." 

“I think telling him — or not telling him — is up to you.”

  
_____________________

By the time you returned home, you were excited to get back to work. As much as you loved your time away, you’ve gotten used to the chaos your job brings in. Besides, your head seemed to be clearer the more busy you were; your priorities became obvious if you were up to your neck in tasks. Especially now, the less time you had to think, the better. 

The case the BAU was welcomed back with was a child abduction. In a sick way, it was great timing.

The team touched down in Alabama about 9 hours after the child, Cate, was taken. Her mother and step-father were murdered in the middle of the night, and she was taken right out of her bed. However, over 30 hours since the abduction, Cate turned up on the side of the road, bound, but alive. 

You, Prentiss, and Hotch all went to the hospital. Only you and Emily entered the room. 

“Mr. Scheuran, hello. I’m Agent Emily Prentiss with the FBI,” she said, extending her hand. “This is my colleague, Y/N.”

You waved and smiled politely. 

“We’d like permission to speak with your daughter,” Emily continued. 

He nodded, then turned back to Cate.

“Sorry,” Emily said, “I meant speak with your daughter alone.”

“Why?” 

“There are certain questions we have to ask, and sometimes, it’s more comfortable for girls to answer those questions when there are no men present,” you answered gently.

“I’m her father,”

“Daddy,” Cate protested, “please?”

“...Alright, baby,” her dad said, kissing her on the forehead.

Mr. Scheurman left the room. 

Emily glanced at you, nodding briefly. You raised your eyebrows in surprise. She then took a step back to further emphasize her point. 

You stepped closer to Cate, taking a seat on the edge of the bed. “Hey, Cate,” you said with a smile. “I’m Y/N. I’m so sorry about your mom and stepdad.” 

Cate looked down at her hands.

“Emily and I want to ask you a few questions to see if we can find out who did this,” you explained. “Is that okay?”

“Yeah, it’s okay,” she said.

“We’re gonna do what’s called a cognitive interview,” Emily said. Her and Cate sat across from each other, while you stood to the side. “It’s as much about the things you sensed as the things you saw.”

“I’m scared,” Cate said quietly.

You crouched beside her, setting a hand on her knee. “I know. But I’m right here, okay? And I’m not going anywhere.” 

Smiling weakly, she nodded. 

You smoothed back some of her hair before standing up again.

“Now, I need you to close your eyes,” Emily instructed. “What’s the first thing you remember?” 

She let out a breath, almost like a shiver. “It’s cold.”

“You’re outside? Who’s there?” 

“A man,” Cate answered. “He told me to keep quiet.”

“What’s he doing?”

“He’s holding my hand. It hurts,” Cate continued, voice becoming frantic. “He’s waiting for something.” 

“What does he look like?” Emily asked. 

“I don’t want to be here,” Cate replied.

“Hey, Cate? You’re safe,” you said. “He can’t hurt you, I promise. I’m right here.”

“He’s tall, has grey hair, and he’s old,” Cate said. 

“Old like me?”

She shook her head. “Old like my dad.”

“Is anyone else there?”

“Someone’s coming,” Cate said. “Y/N! Y/N, help me! Help me!”

You crouched in front of her again, this time taking her hands and squeezing them. “It’s okay,” you promised, “I’m right here. I promise you, he cannot hurt you.”

Eventually, Cate closed her eyes again. “He put me in the trunk.”

“How long were you in there?” Emily asked.

“I don’t know. It wasn’t long — 10 minutes?” Cate said. You continued to hold her hands. 

“Was the ride bumpy, or smooth?” 

“Smooth. I wanted to scream, but no sound would come out.”

“It’s okay,” you whispered. 

“So the car stops,” Emily says, “what do you hear?”

“Wind. Wind through the trees.”

“And what do you smell?”

“Cooking.”

“You’re inside now?”

Cate nodded. “They took my shoes off.”

“That’s so you won’t run,” Emily said. “I want you to look down at your feet and tell me what you’re standing on.” 

“Carpet,” Cate answered. “I’m in a little room, with clothes and tin foil all around me. And I hear bells… small bells, like a fairy. Every time one rings, the man says something to the boy.”

“The boy?” Emily asked. “How old is he?”

“9,” Cate said. “His parents want me to play with him. I don’t wanna go. Don’t make me go! Y/N! Y/N, don’t make me go!”

“Cate,” you said gently, squeezing her hands again. “I’m right here. You can open your eyes.”

She opened her eyes, staring blankly until she met your gaze.

“You did so good,” you promised. “Thank you.”

She leaned forward, wrapping her arms around your shoulders. You moved onto your knees, hugging her properly. You cradled the back of her neck, rubbing circles into back.

  
_____________________

“How serious are you and this boyfriend of yours?” Emily asked.

You looked from the window of the car to the drivers side. “What? Why?”

“You thinking of having kids?”

“We’ve talked about it,” you nodded. “I wanna wait until I’m done with school. I think he’s on board with that.”

“Well, regardless of when it happens, you’ll be an amazing mother. I mean, watching the way you interact with kids? You’re a natural,” she said. “I’m sure your boyfriend would be a good dad, too.”

You grinned, heart swelling. “Thanks, Emily. And hey, who knows: things change.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Did things change? Or are you just saying that?”

“...I think he might propose to me.”

Emily beamed. “Really?! That’s amazing, Y/N! ...right?”

“I… I think so,” you laughed nervously. “I haven’t put much thought to it. Do I seem like marriage material?”

She shrugged. “Do you want to spend the rest of your life with him?”

“I do.”

“Does he want to spend the rest of his life with you?”

“I think so, yeah.”

“Sounds like marriage material to me.”

You smiled. “Yeah,” you said, nodding slightly. “Maybe we are.”

  
_____________________

“I take it back. All of it. I take it back.”

Spencer looked up from his book. “What?”

You barged into the apartment mere moments ago. Your hair was crazy, you were still holding your backpack, and your shoes were still tied and on your feet. You spent the morning in lecture and most of the afternoon studying, so this was the first real chance you had to see Spencer. In fact, this was the first free time you’d spend with him since Christmas vacation.

“All that stuff I said about marriage. I take it back.” 

Spencer first frowned, then smiled in realization. It wasn’t one of happiness, though; it was an ‘I know more than you do’ smile. “Y/N-” 

“I don’t need a ring or a wedding to know that I want to spend the rest of my life with you — I still stand by that. But if that’s what you want, I’ll do it. Because I do. Come hell or high water, I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”

Spencer stood up, walking over to his jacket pocket. He fumbled for a moment, but eventually found the case. He then approached you, bending down on one knee. Your heart practically leapt out of your chest.

“Y/N Y/L/N, will you marry me?” Spencer asked, opening the case. 

Upon closer inspection, you realized the ring was entirely gold. And, rather than having a giant diamond in the center, the entire band was made up of a word in script: ‘someday’. 

“After I overheard your conversation with Derek, I had it made,” Spencer explained softly. “I had a feeling you wouldn’t jump at the idea of marriage, but… maybe someday, you will.”

You felt yourself tear up. “I really fucking love you, Spencer Reid. You know that, right?” 

He nodded with a chuckle. “I love you too. Give me your hand.” 

You did as you were told. Spencer took the ring from its case, gently sliding it on your fourth finger. He then stood up and pulled you into a kiss, then a hug. 

What did you do to deserve someone like him?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FINALLY, someone on the team knows!
> 
> I was originally going to leave this chapter on a cliffhanger, but I also kind of wanted to just get past this ring drama lol. 
> 
> Also: this story is only 3/4 chapters away from the end, which is pretty bittersweet. As much as I want to drag this out, I also don't want to butcher the entire story just because I didn't want it to end, ya know?
> 
> Comments + kudos = quicker updates! ;)
> 
> Until next time... xx


	12. Particles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS CHAPTER HAS A TRIGGER WARNING. It is also a spoiler. Please, take care of yourself and read the end notes if you think it may effect you. Take care ❤️
> 
> This was... a roller coaster. Enjoy!
> 
> Title Song: [x](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eeu2Y3mdSkU)

You felt Spencer’s hands move from your waist to the hem of your shirt. 

The two of you were making out in bed; his back was against the headboard, and you sat perched in his lap. Your hands explored his bare chest. Now, it was his turn. 

You pulled away, a smirk on your face as you shed your t-shirt and threw it on the floor. Like always, your dog tags rattled before settling on your skin. 

After a moment of consideration, you grabbed the tags and pulled them off your neck. You tossed them aside like you did your clothes.

“Are you sure, Y/N?” He asked, eyes wide with concern.

You smiled. “I don’t need them anymore: I have you.” 

He grinned, pulling you in for another kiss.

  
_____________________

“Honestly? Everything is going… fine. More than fine. For once, I can't think of something to complain about.”

“Way to rub it in,” scoffed Rudy.

“I’m sorry!” you laughed. The group shared a collective chuckle. “School and work are going great, I haven’t had a panic attack in weeks, and my boyfriend and I are engaged… sort of.” 

“Sort of?” Marge asked. “Honey, if you don’t nail him down, I will.” 

“We live together,” you said. “Believe me: we’re both in it for the long haul.” 

“Then why don’t I see a wedding band next to that fancy new ring of yours?” 

You bit your lip. You looked down, spinning the ring around your finger nervously. “I get out of this what I put in, right?”

It took him a moment, but the therapist, Walter, nodded. “Absolutely. Say whatever you’d like, Y/N. Nothing you say leaves this room.” 

You nodded briefly, swallowing the lump in your throat. “I was uh… I was in a relationship while I was overseas.”

“Long distance?” Abraham asked. “It’ll fuck any relationship up.”

“Actually, he was serving too,” you said. “He was a Staff Sergeant.” 

The room went quiet. 

“He never made it back home,” you said quietly. “A while ago, I found out that his parents lived in Seattle. I ended up visiting for a weekend. While I was there, they told me he… bought a ring. I had no clue.” 

Marge leaned over, setting a hand on your shoulder and squeezing comfortingly. “I’m sorry, sweetheart.”

“Me too.” 

Rudy contorted his face in thought. “Can I say something?”

You extended a hand, motioning the floor was his.

“He didn’t come home,” Rudy repeated, “but you did. Sometimes, it feels like you made it back whole. Other days, it’s like you were shipped back in pieces. But at the end of the day, you’re here.” he paused. “You really love that boy of yours?”

You nodded. “I do. He’s the reason I’m sitting here.” 

When I got back, I spent years thinking about Vietnam. It’s the reason my wife and I divorced,” Rudy said. “I still love her, and I’m sure she still loves me, but could never get past what happened over there. I couldn’t talk about it to anyone, much less her. It took me awhile, but I realized that was a mistake. I love that woman with my whole heart, so why am I only giving her pieces of the rest of me?”

“That’s... a really good point, Rudy,” you said. “Thank you.”

He raised his cup.

You turned to Marge. “For the record, I do plan on marrying him. There’s a reason this ring says ‘someday’ and not ‘never’.”

She smirked. “That’s my girl.”

  
_____________________

“WHAT?!” Penelope shrieked so loud the entire Bureau probably heard her. “Does this mean you’re engaged?! When’s the wedding?! Am I bridesmaid?! Oh my gosh, I have so much to plan.”

“Woah, slow down,” you said, laughing. “It’s more of a promise ring. For now, at least.”

“‘Someday’,” Emily recited, observing your hand. “Courtesy of him, or you?”

“A little bit of both,” you answered. 

“It’s really sweet, Y/N,” JJ said with a smile. “We couldn’t be happier for you.” 

“Can we please, please, please meet him now?” Garcia begged. “I have so much to ask the future Mr. Y/L/N.” 

“I’ll… see about setting something up,” you replied. 

You didn’t regret telling the team about your relationship, but it left you with exactly two choices: you could either lie and say the two of you broke up, or you could come clean and tell everyone Spencer is your boyfriend. You could try to keep making up excuses for why they haven’t met him yet, but eventually, they’ll get suspicious. They’re profilers, after all. 

“I know this is last minute, but wheels up in 30 everyone,” Hotch said, walking through the bullpen. “We’ll debrief on the jet.” 

You’d have to decide later.

  
_____________________

“Oh my god,” Garcia said after pulling up a website page from Trisha’s — the first victim — computer.

For the first time since you joined the BAU, Garcia tagged along on a case. Basically, she was there to go through the computers of the victims, all of which appeared to have died by suicide. However, the more digging she and the rest of the team did, the more their motives came to light. Or, rather, their shared motive.

“‘The choking game’?” you read aloud. “Why does that sound familiar?”

“It-it’s a game where kids choke themselves to get a buzz, get high,” Garcia said, tapping her own neck.

“They call it the ‘good kid’s high’,” Spencer continued. “You get lightheaded and a sense of euphoria even though no actual drugs are involved.”

“No pills, no needles, no side effects or withdrawal symptoms… all you need is a turtleneck or a scarf and no one would ever know,” you said. “I’d call it ingenius if it wasn’t so goddamn stupid.” 

“Did Ryan have a computer?” Hotch asked.

“Not in his room,” Derek answered. 

“What about a gaming console?” Garcia inquired.

“Yeah, he did,” Spencer said. He reached into his pocket, pulling out a small peice of folded paper. “Here’s his IP address.” 

“Kids will find any way to get online,” Garcia said, typing in the address. She scrolled through his history, and sure enough, the same website Trisha was on came up. “They were both on the website the night they died.”

“It wasn’t suicide,” Derek said in disbelief.

“Garcia, why are there so many links on the main page?” You asked as she looked through the website.

She pulled up a few of the pages in new windows. “...It’s a game. ‘Garfield edged out Casper High last week. You gonna let them diss us?’”

“Diss — sounds like a kid,” Prentiss observed. “Who else would pit schools against each other?”

“Reckless teenage competition,” JJ said. She sighed and shook her head.

“You guys seriously think a student at one of these schools could be the UnSub?” You asked.

“You don’t?” Rossi asked curiously.

“I mean, it’s possible — it would explain how he keeps the website hidden from the surface web. But it seems so… sadistic. Some adult sociopaths aren’t even this evolved.” 

“Sociopathy isn’t solely nature or nurture; oftentimes, it’s a mixture of both,” Spencer said. “If our UnSub is a teenager, it’s possible he was born with antisocial personality disorder, and neglect or abuse turned the disorder into something violent.”

“It’s possible,” Hotch agreed, “but because of the severity, we should consider all possibilities in terms of age.” 

“Whoever logs the most ‘high time’ on Friday wins,” Garcia continued, like she didn’t hear the rest of the conversation. 

You set a hand on her shoulder in comfort.

“Friday… tomorrow,” Emily said.

“‘Get your friends on board. Practice makes the high last longer’,” Garcia read. “‘Do it alone, video it with your webcam, and upload it to the site for it to count.’”

“It’s time we deliver the profile,” Hotch said.

  
_____________________

Spencer was tasked with speaking to the local high school about the choking game. Particularly, he as to speak to Ryan’s former classmates. If the BAU could stop a few kids from playing the game, it might be enough to stop all of them. That was the best-case scenario, at least. 

“Hey,” you said, setting a fresh mug of coffee in front of him. “How’s the powerpoint going?”

“Fine,” he responded plainly.

You took a seat across the table from him. “You remember that paper I wrote a few months ago? The one about Nature vs. Nurture?”

Spencer nodded. He had yet to look up from his laptop screen. “You used serial killers as your main example.”

“I did,” you agreed. “I talked about Amy Wournos and Ted Bundy, and how their childhoods were so different, yet they both ended up serial killers.”

Spencer looked up with a sigh. “What’s your point, Y/N?” 

You raised your eyebrows in surprise. Normally, you were the blunt one.

“My point is: I know that sociopathy can be both born and forged,” you said. “I think everyone on the team knows, too.” 

“We’re not together when we’re at work,” he said. 

“Not as a couple,” you said, “but we can be friends. You don’t have to pretend you don’t know anything about me.”

“I’m a little busy right now,” Spencer responded. “Can we talk later?”

“...Yeah, of course,” you said, standing up.

“Thanks for the coffee,” he told you, smiling softly.

It didn’t quite reach his eyes.

  
_____________________

“Munchausen by Proxy?” You said, walking out of the office. “I still can’t believe it. His own son.” 

“Thankfully, we got there in time,” Emily agreed with a sigh. 

“He already lost his mom,” you said. “Now he’s losing his dad, too. He’s a bastard, sure, but it’s his dad. I just feel so bad for Eric, ya know?” 

“Sometimes, the best outcome isn’t always the happiest,” JJ said. “I’m starving. Anyone wanna get breakfast?”

You frowned. “Don’t you want to go home to your boys?”

“Henry’s in school, and Will is at work,” JJ answered. “I’ll see them this afternoon.”

“Sorry ladies, I have a cat to feed,” Emily said. “Have fun.”

You both waved as Emily got into an elevator. 

“I could go for some pancakes,” you shrugged.

“There’s this really cute place on 5th and Garrow Street,” JJ said. “They make the best flapjacks this side of town.” 

“It’s a date,” you joked.

You heard the door open and close behind you. You smiled upon seeing who it was.  
“Hey, Spencer!” you said. “Wanna go get breakfast with JJ and I?” 

“Maybe another time,” he muttered. His nose was in a book, and he was on the elevator in a matter of seconds.

You looked to JJ. She shrugged.

“His mind moves a mile a minute,” she said. “Who knows what he’s up to. Come on.”

JJ slung an arm around your shoulders, and the two of you left.

  
_____________________

“I don’t mean to sound like Garcia, but you seriously have to tell the ring story,” JJ said.

You smiled as you swallowed a mouthful of pancakes.

“He knows marriage is kind of a sore subject for me,” you answered. “This is his way of showing that he still wants to be with me. And, who knows… maybe, someday, I’ll wear a wedding band instead.” 

“I seriously can’t wait to meet him,” JJ grinned.

You smiled again. You began to play with the ring again.

She frowned. “What is it, Y/N? ...Do you want out?”

“What? No! God, no,” you actually laughed. “It’s not that.”

“Then what’s bothering you?” she asked, sipping her coffee. 

“I think he’s angry with me, and I have no clue why,” you said. 

“What makes you think that?”

“It’s been awhile since we’ve actually talked to each other. We’re both crazy busy with our jobs, but we still at least try to say ‘I love you’.”

JJ scoffed. “Believe me: I know the feeling.” 

“It’s like now, he doesn’t want to talk to me at all,” you continued. “I don’t know what I did wrong.”

“Here’s a crazy idea — ask him,” she said. “Seriously, sometimes all a guy wants is to be heard. Let him rant, let him get upset, and odds are, he’ll let it go.” 

“Hm,” you said, biting your lip in consideration. “That might actually work. Thanks, JJ.”

“Talking to him, like normal people do?” She asked. “It’s practically idiot-proof.”

You rolled your eyes, throwing your napkin at her. “I’m new to this, okay?”

“Don’t worry: I can tell.”

  
_____________________

You walked through the front door, toeing off your shoes and hanging up your coat. You dropped your go-bag on the floor; you’d take it apart and reassemble it later. 

Approaching the bedroom, you knocked on the partially open door with your knuckles. You didn’t wait for a response before entering. 

Spencer, who was laying down, propped himself up on his elbows. 

“Can we talk?” You asked. 

“...I was gonna get some sleep.”

“You can sleep later,” you said. “Please?”

Spencer sat up completely, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. He rubbed his eyes tiredly. “What’s going on, Y/N?” 

“I think something’s bugging you. If you don’t want to tell me, that’s fine. But I want you to know that, if you ever want to talk, I’m here. I’m always willing to listen. I just… I want you to know that.” 

He mumbled something under his breath. 

“...I’m sorry?” you asked. “What did you say?”

“I said ‘it’s always about you, isn’t it’? What you want, what you feel… what you’ve been through.”

Your heart sank into the pit of your stomach.

“Um… That’s not really fair, but okay. Did I do something, Spencer? What the hell is going on?”

“Some of us grown-ups have real problems, but you know what, Y/N?” he said, standing up. “We find a way to deal with it. We find a way to live our lives without letting it control us.”

It felt like you walked through the front door and right into your worst nightmare. 

“Is this about the whole marriage thing?” You asked, voice growing meek. 

“It’s about all of it,” he responded. “You don’t want to marry me? Fine. But I don’t want to be with a stranger.”

“A stranger?” you practically laughed. “Spencer, what the fuck are you talking about? We live together! I know you better than anyone! I-I’ve met your mom, I know your dad left when you were a kid, I know about Tobias Hankel and what he did to you…”

“My dad left because of my mom’s schizophrenia, I was the one who put my mother in in-patient, and Tobias Hankel got me addicted to Dilaudid.” 

“Why didn’t you tell me any of this before?” you whispered.

“Because I couldn’t!” He shouted, making you flinch. “Don’t you get it, Y/N?! I’m too busy being your keeper to be myself!”

“I never asked you to be my ‘keeper’,” you argued, tears forming in your eyes. “I asked you to be my boyfriend. I’m sorry you found that so goddamn annoying.”

Something clicked, either in his brain or his heart. His face softened, and the look in his eyes changed from one of anger to one of shame.

It was too late, though. 

You took a backpack out of your closet, the one you used while you were in Basic Training. You started shoving whatever you could find in the main pocket. The rest of what you needed was in your go-bag on the floor.

“Where are you going, Y/N?” He asked gently.

“I don’t know,” you admitted, wiping tears as they fell. “I just can’t be here.” 

You made it to the living room before he tried to stop you. He grabbed your bicep, his grip trailing down to your hand. “Wait, Y/N… please, stay. I’m so, so sorry.” 

You had no idea where his words came from, and it seemed like that place disappeared. It didn’t take it’s speech with it, though. No, that was a mess you and the man you love were left to clean up.

You turned around, smiling through your tears. “I know this isn’t you, Spence. But that didn’t come from nowhere. So, whatever it is you’re going through, I think you need to figure it out on your own, at least for now.”

You set a hand on his cheek. He leaned into the touch.

You pulled your hand away to take his one last time, at least, for now. You gave it a squeeze before letting it fall. 

“If you need me, please, call me. Okay?” you said.

He nodded numbly.

You grabbed your dog tags off the coat hanger, opened the door, and stepped out.

Spencer looked down in his hand.

In it sat a ring reading ‘someday’. 

He threw it across the room.

You knocked on the door in front of you, clearing your throat.

“Y/N?” Derek asked after opening the door. “What’s going on?”

“Got room for one more?” you croaked out. You couldn’t make it through your own joke before you started crying again. 

Immediately, Derek swept you into a hug. You stood in the doorway and cried into his arms for longer than you cared to admit.

About 15 minutes later, you were sitting on the couch, wrapped in a blanket. You stopped crying, so now, you were staring blankly ahead.

Derek offered you a mug. You accepted it with thanks. You caught a whiff of its contents.

“You don’t strike me as a tea drinker,” you said, taking a sip. 

“I keep a stash for Garcia,” he said with a laugh, taking a seat beside you. 

“That sounds about right,” you managed to chuckle. Your face fell flat again. “I’m not a complete bitch for leaving, am I?”

“You didn’t leave him,” Derek said softly. “You’re taking a break. There’s a difference.”

“But he’s obviously going through something,” you said. “Shouldn’t I be there?”

“This may shock you, but Spencer’s never had someone like you in his life,” Derek responded. “When he goes through shit, he does it by himself. There isn’t much any of us can do but take a step back and let him deal with things on his own. He loves you, and he knows you love him. He knows he’s not alone.” 

“I’ve told him things I’ve never told anyone else,” you said quietly, “and he took it and threw it in my face.”

“He’s not himself,” Derek reminded gently. 

“I know. But it still hurts. It still really fucking hurts, Derek,” you said, voice breaking.

Derek wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close and planting a kiss on the top of your head. “I know it does, baby girl.” 

  
_____________________

3 days. 3 days passed without speaking to Spencer, even in passing. The BAU was between cases, so it was 3 days of paperwork, stolen glances and silent desperation. You used to count how many times you and Spencer touched during a workday. Now, you could count the number of times you made eye contact on a single hand. 

JJ and Garcia were the first to notice. Derek managed to keep Garcia from asking too many questions, which you were eternally grateful for. JJ, on the other hand, mostly picked up on Spencer’s mood change, them being best friends and all. Everyone but Derek had yet to connect the dots. 

“Is something going on?” Emily asked, leaning on the side of your desk. 

You looked up. “No, everything’s fine.”

“Really?” She asked. “Because you seem… off.”

“I thought this place had a rule against profiling coworkers,” you joked.

She grinned and rolled her eyes. “I’m not profiling a coworker, I’m worried about a friend.”

“Thanks, Em, but seriously, I’m okay. I think I’m just tired; sometimes, school and work can be a lot.” 

“If you need to take a break, Hotch would totally understand,” Emily reminded. “He seems all stoic and mighty, but he cares about this team more than any of us.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” you said with a small smile. 

She patted your shoulder.

Spencer didn’t show up on the 4th day. You casually asked JJ, knowing she would have figured it out by now. 

“Hotch says he called in sick,” she said. “I buy it. He’s been… off the last few days. I think it might be his mom.”

“I hope not,” you said in an attempt to conversational. “Poor guy’s been through enough.”

“He most certainly has.”

“Hey, Hotch?” you said, peeking through his open door. “Can I talk to you?”

“Come in,” he said, setting down his pen. 

“I, uh, I have a lot of homework to do: my psych professor is kind of a bitch,” you lied. “Would it be okay if I took the afternoon off? We’re not working a case, and I’m not the most useful person in the office.” 

He nodded. “Take the time you need.” 

“Thank you, sir,” you said, turning to leave.

“Y/N?” Hotch asked.

“Yes sir?”

“Let me know if he’s okay.”

“...Yes sir.”

  
_____________________

You knocked on the apartment door loudly. “Spencer? Spencer, open up. I know you’re in there.”

You of course had a key, but you didn’t want to use it unless you had to. A few more minutes passed, though, and you realized you would have to. 

“Spencer, everyone is worried,” you said, walking into the apartment. You closed the door behind you, shedding your jacket. “I know you didn’t call, but honestly, I was worried too. I didn’t know —”

You turned around, and the breath in your lungs escaped. 

Spencer was lying lifeless on the couch. There was a tourniquet on his arm, and a needle and empty vile laid on the floor beside him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: Drug Overdose. 
> 
> Leave your tears and therapy bills in the comments below ;)
> 
> Until next time... xx


	13. Medicine (Someone to Stay)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for bearing with me! Hopefully you don't hate me after last chapter's cliffhanger, lol. 
> 
> Also, the next chapter is already the Epilogue :,( I'll write a long, sappy note about that later. For now, though, I just want to thank you for reading <3
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> Title Songs: [x,](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cKAA5f5WwDw) [x](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xNVZ4fzkSu8)
> 
> TRIGGER WARNING: Discussions of addiction.

The first call you worked as a paramedic was a 56-year-old male in cardiac arrest. 

Your partner was kind of an ass — he’d been working in the department for about 9 years, which apparently meant he knew everything. You heard a few people mention he wasn’t happy with the exception the state made for you, giving you a license without technically going through the training. When it came down to it, though, you saw more in a week in Syria than he probably saw in his entire career. Maybe he was jealous.

The man’s wife had been doing chest compressions for 5 minutes by the time you arrived. You of course swapped out with her immediately, replacing her weak and tired thrusts with stronger, faster ones. It wasn’t as easy as TV shows made it seem; the force came from your upper body, and your hands sunk 2 inches into the center of his chest. The force made his stomach jut out, and after a few minutes, sweat began to bead onto your forehead. 

After 4 more grueling minutes, including the time it took to shock him, you managed to find a pulse. Mark, your partner, had taken over compressions. A second crew had also arrived. 

You helped load him onto the gurney and in the back of the ambulance. You and Mark would take the patient, the other team would bring his wife and daughter to the hospital. You closed the door with a smile. 

“Savor this, kid,” Mark said. “They don’t always end like this.”

At the time, you rolled his eyes when he turned his back. You thought he was just a grouchy old man who wanted to suck out any enjoyment the job could bring. 

As you sat in the hospital waiting room, you were starting to think he might’ve been right.

Every minute that passed felt like an eternity. Your stomach was tied in knots that kept pulling tighter, no matter what you did. You sat down, you paced, you pulled your hair… nothing. Nothing could distract you, make the worry and guilt and shame go away. 

You should’ve been there. 

And now, you’re here.

You should’ve been there.

You were sitting with your head down when you heard the waiting room doors slide open. You looked up, and both relief and anxiety flooded your system.

“Thank you,” you said, hugging Derek first, then JJ. “I… I didn’t know who else to call. You’re his best friends.”

“You did the right thing,” Derek promised.

“What happened, Y/N?” JJ asked. All you told her was that it wasn’t something you could get into over the phone. 

“I went home early to check on Spencer, and when I got to the apartment…” you took in a shaky breath, fresh tears spilling onto your cheeks. “...I found him on the couch, passed out, with a needle in his arm.” 

Derek sighed, running a hand over his head. JJ pursed her lips and furrowed her eyebrows.

“I didn’t know,” you choked out. “He only told me 3 days ago, and it was because we got into a massive fight, and… now he’s in the hospital. Oh my god.”

You sat down again, carding your fingers through your hair. JJ took a seat beside you, setting a hand in the crook of your arm. 

“What do you mean you got into a fight?” JJ asked softly. 

“You remember when we went out for breakfast, and I said I thought my boyfriend was mad at me?”

JJ nodded. “I said you should talk to him, ask him what’s on his mind.” 

“That’s exactly what I did,” you confirmed quietly. “Spencer blew up, then apologized. And you know what I did? I fucking ran away, like a goddamn coward. I gave him the ring back.”

“Spencer’s your secret boyfriend?” JJ whispered. 

You nodded before grabbing fistfuls of your hair, right at the roots. You wished you could punch yourself. 

“Y/N, Spencer’s gotten clean before,” JJ said. “He can do it again.”

“He’ll be okay,” Derek assured, taking a seat on your other side. 

You smiled faintly, wiping at your eyes. Truthfully, the word ‘okay’ felt like it was millions of miles away. You just wanted both of you to make it out of this alive.

  
_____________________

An hour passed before they finally let you see him. 

The nurse said you’d be lucky if he even woke up soon — they gave him a second dose of naloxone, so his body was still recovering from both the high and the crash. You didn’t care. You had to see him, see that he was breathing with your own two eyes.

You stepped into the room, and your heart broke. 

His face was pale and shiny, as a thin layer of sweat coated his entire body. He hadn’t shaved since you last spoke to him, and it was starting to make sense. 

Everything Spencer said was true — you were selfish. When it came to this relationship, the only person you thought about was yourself. You didn’t want it to be true, but how could it be a lie? If you paid even a little attention to your boyfriend, you would’ve seen the signs. You would’ve realized he was hurting, and you would’ve done everything in your power to fix it. 

You pulled up a chair next to the bed. You pulled down the railing, gently picking up his hand and cradling it in yours.

You felt Spencer shift in his sleep.

You bolted upright immediately, the light slumber you were in disappearing as fast as it came.

“Spencer?” you asked quietly, setting a hand on his cheek. “Spence, honey, it’s me.” 

He tilted his head, pinning your hand between his face and the pillow. You managed a short, soft giggle. 

Spencer furrowed his eyebrows, sucking in a deep breath through his nose. It twitched as he did so — the oxygen cannula was probably itchy. Then, he slowly opened his eyes. 

“I’m so, so sorry, Y/N,” he said, voice raspy and dry. 

You reached over to the moveable table, pouring him a glass of water from a pitcher someone left. You picked up a straw and stuck it in the cup, bringing it to his lips. Spencer took a slow sip. When he was done, you set the cup on the nightstand. 

“Don’t apologize, okay?” you said softly, running a hand through his hair. “Before I say anything else, I want you to know that I’m not angry with you.” 

After a moment, he nodded shortly. 

“...Why?” you asked. You were unable to think of a more indirect way of asking. “What made you do it, Spence?” 

He swallowed nervously. “I’ve been back on Dilaudid for awhile now — ever since we broke up.”

“I’m so sorry I left,” you whispered. “I never should have walked out that door. I’m sorry.”

“...That’s not what I mean when I say ‘since we broke up.’”

It took you a minute, but it clicked. And when it did, it felt like someone ran a knife through your heart. 

“You mean right after I moved?” You asked in disbelief. “Spencer, that was months ago.”

He closed his eyes. “I know.”

“I did this?” you whispered.

His eyes widened. “What? No, Y/N, you didn’t do this. I did.” 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” you asked. “I… I could’ve helped!”

“I was embarrassed.”

“Embarrassed of what?”

“I was embarrassed I couldn’t handle it on my own,” he answered meekly. “After awhile, I made it on a couple of doses a week. Ever since I gave you the ring, I’ve been trying to stop completely.”

“That’s why you snapped a few days ago,” you said in realization. It was both comforting and upsetting to know where his outburst came from; comforting, because you now knew it wasn’t him speaking. Upsetting, because he was going through withdrawal, and you had no clue. 

“I felt so horrible for everything I said to you…” Spencer continued. “I just wanted to stop feeling so horrible, so... alone. I know you didn’t leave me, but in some ways, it felt like you did. Not that I blame you — I’d leave me too.”

“Spencer, look at me.”

He met your gaze. 

“I love you, more than anything,” you said. “I’m going to marry you someday, but I’ve already made the vows. ‘In sickness and in health’. You are sick, Spencer, but you are not broken. You are not unloveable. You’re not any less of a boyfriend or a man or a human being. And no matter what, I’m here. I’m not leaving your side. Okay?” 

He nodded, a tear slipping down his cheek. “Okay,” he said faintly. 

You crawled onto the bed beside him, resting your head on his chest. You listened and felt his breathing — up, down. Up, down. Up, down. It was soothing. 

A little while later, you heard a knock on the door. A short, dark-haired woman entered.

“I’m here for a psych consult?” She said. It came out like more of a question than a statement.

You stood up, wiping your nose. “I’m gonna go talk to Derek and JJ,” you said softly. “I’ll be back.”

Spencer nodded. 

You smiled at the psychiatrist before walking out. 

Rather than taking a right to enter the waiting room, you walked straight ahead until you found the bathrooms. The second you stepped inside, you kicked the garbage can over, letting out a sound that was somewhere between a scream and a sob. You collapsed onto the ground, dragging your knees to your chest. 

“I did this,” you cried between gasping breaths. “I did this to him.”

  
_____________________

“Finding the right therapist can be tricky, but it’s integral to the recovery process,” Dr. Mandelle, the psychiatrist said. “I have a list of recommendations — it’s an easy and great way to start looking.” 

You accepted the piece of paper she offered you. “What… what do we do about the withdrawal? Should he stay here? Is there, like, an in-patient facility he should go to?”

“There’s no method that is proven to be more effective: it really comes down to what you and Dr. Reid are comfortable with,” she answered. “I’ve seen patients have more success recovering with family at home than alone in in-patient. A person’s support system is more important than their location.” 

You nodded, then pinched the skin between your eyes. “Sorry, I’m a paramedic, I should know all of this. I’m sorry.”

“It’s different when you’re in it,” Dr. Mandelle assured gently. “I wrote a prescription for Fluoxetine and Alprazolam — two weeks for both. It’s up to the two of you whether or not you’d like it filled. If you find that one or both work, you can have it refilled by either a psychiatrist or a Primary Care Provider.” 

“Sounds… great, I guess,” you said. 

“You may want to look into seeing a family therapist as well,” she suggested. “It isn’t a replacement for one-on-one councelling, but it could be beneficial while coinciding.” 

“Thank you, Dr. Mendelle,” you replied. “I appreciate it.”

She smiled, then studied you for a moment. Eventually, she set her hand on your shoulder.

“You didn’t cause this,” she said softly. “Sometimes, loved ones get caught in a loop — they feel like they should’ve seen the signs, predicted what was coming. It’s important to remember that addiction isn’t a choice: it’s an illness. There’s nothing you could have done to stop this.”

Was that supposed to make you feel better? If anything, it made you feel worse.

  
_____________________

After talking it over with Spencer, the two of you decided that it would be best if he detoxed at the apartment. He wasn’t physically dependent on the drug, meaning he’d more than likely be okay without a doctor’s supervision. Besides, if anything did happen, you had the training to deal with it — not that anything could top you finding him on the couch.

There were several other benefits to staying at home: you didn’t have to leave his side, for example. If he was to stay anywhere else, whether it be the hospital or a center, you could only see him during visiting hours. You didn’t want to leave his side ever again, especially now. 

Hotch gave both you and Spencer 2 weeks off without asking any questions; you figured it had to do with liability. If he didn’t ask, you didn’t tell, which meant if Strauss decided to do some digging, he couldn’t be held responsible. If anyone, Strauss or otherwise, wanted to do anything, they wouldn’t get very far. Spencer may be a federal agent, but he was still covered by HIPAA. He had a right to doctor-patient confidentiality. As far as the Bureau was concerned, he came down with pneumonia. 

“We’re med-buddies now,” you joked on the drive home. 

You ended up taking a cab back to the apartment so you could drive Spencer home in your Jeep. It also gave Spencer a moment alone with JJ, and it gave you time to fill his prescription at a local pharmacy. It worked out pretty well. 

He frowned, looking through the paperwork he was given. “What?”

“We’re med-buddies,” you repeated. “We’re both prescribed a benzo and an SSRI.” Silence. “Nevermind. It was stupid.”

“No, it was a good joke,” Spencer said. He didn’t laugh, but he did smile.

You smiled back.

  
_____________________

He spent most of the first few days sleeping. This seemed like a good thing at first, but when you took a closer look, you realized he was sweating and twitching; it was far from restful. Still, you took advantage of his naps, using the time he was asleep to run to a corner store or gas station. You bought a bunch of electrolyte drinks for him, and some coffee and food for yourself. 

When Spencer was awake, he was groggy and slow. A part of that probably had to do with the lack of caffeine in his system — you forbid him from having any until he was done detoxing.

“Just a sip?” He asked, reaching for your mug across the table. 

You grabbed it before he could. “You’re supposed to be taking a break, Spencer. Besides, it’s never ‘just a sip’ with you.”

He grumbled, taking another sip of his gatorade. 

You couldn’t help but grin. “You’re cute when you’re angry at me.” 

He smiled softly. A pleasant silence filled the room. 

“There’s a Narcotics Anonymous meeting this Monday night,” he said, clearing his throat slightly. “Would you be interested in going with me?”

“That’s 4 days away…” you replied. “You think you’ll be ready?”

He shrugged, like you asked him what he wanted for dinner. “I’ll have to be, eventually. Might as well start now.” 

“When does it start?” you asked. “I scheduled your first therapy session for Monday at 2.”

“It starts at 6.”

You smiled. “I’d love to go with you, Spencer.”

  
_____________________

Withdrawal was both easier and harder than you thought it would be. When the drugs completely left his system, Spencer was more alert and aware, but he was also in a worse mood. Whenever you talked to him, his replies were short and muttered, rather than his usual long and thoughtful responses. You didn’t take it personally, but it still hurt. It hurt to see what Dilaudid stole from the love of your life; it left him as nothing more than a shadow of who he used to be.

“We’re going,” you said simply, putting your wallet in your backpack. 

“I already said I don’t want to.”

He was still wearing his robe and pajamas. His face was unshaven, and his hair was wild. 

“Unfortunately, I don’t give a damn about what you want,” you replied. “Either get cleaned up now or you’re leaving like that.” 

“You’re my girlfriend, not my mother,” he protested. “You can’t tell me what to do.”

“Oh yeah?” you scoffed. “Did you decide that before or after you overdosed on a highly addictive opioid?” 

“How long are you going to use that against me?”

“Until you get better,” you said. “Now, you can either get in the bathroom or get in the car. Your choice.” 

“How do you know I’m not better already?” Spencer taunted. Apparently, the argument wasn’t over. “Huh? How do you know this isn’t who I really am?” 

“Is that a joke?” you asked, raising your eyebrows.

He stared at you.

You chuckled bitterly. “You wanna know how I know?” you said. “Spencer Reid could never take two weeks off without going crazy. Spencer Reid would be bouncing off the walls, itching for any work he could find. He would have read his entire bookshelf by now. What the hell have you done besides wallow in self-pity?”

Spencer looked down.

You sighed, approaching him. You gently took his hands. “I know you’re hurting right now,” you said gently. “I know you don’t like who you are right now. You’re allowed to be angry. You’re allowed to be upset. If you want, you can take it out on me. It’s okay. But you’re not you, Spencer. Right now, you’re not the man I fell in love with. Maybe it’s partially my fault — that’s my cross to bear. But I’m going to do everything I can to get him back.”

  
_____________________

Neither of you spoke the entire car ride to and from his therapy appointment. When it came time to leave for NA, there wasn’t a big fight like before; after taking a shower and changing his clothes, Spencer silently followed you downstairs and to the parking garage.

“My name’s Spencer. I hold 3 doctorates, 3 undergraduates, I work for the FBI… and I’m an addict.” 

Spencer stood in front of a small group of people. The meeting was held in the basement of a church, and for whatever reason, there was a small stage at one end. They decided this was the perfect place to stand up in front of everyone and say what was wrong with you. In a way, it was ingenious — if you can speak your sins on a stage, you can pretty much do it anywhere. 

“Honestly, I didn’t want to be here tonight,” he said, then met your gaze, “-but my amazing girlfriend bullied me into coming.” 

There were a few scattered laughs. 

“About a week ago, I overdosed on Dilaudid,” Spencer continued. “I was in a bad place. I tried to avoid using as hard as I could, but eventually, it seemed like it was inevitable. Had I used a milliliter more, it would have killed me. It’s not that I wanted to die, exactly… I just wanted it to stop. 

“I’ve been clean since then. I know that isn’t much. In the long run, it’s hardly anything. But… I’m proud of myself. I want to do better: for my girlfriend, for my friends, for my career… and for myself. I don’t want to live in constant fear of when I might relapse. I don’t want to think about drugs whenever I’m sad, or angry, or unsure of how I feel. But I don’t want to be the person I was before my addiction.

“I want to learn from this. I want to accept my illness, and I want to learn how to control it. I want to be stronger. I don’t just want to do better; I want to _be_ better. ...Thank you.”

He was met with applause. 

After stepping down from the stage, Spencer took a seat next to you. He reached for you hand, which you gratefully took. 

“I love you,” you whispered.

“I love you too,” he whispered back.

  
_____________________

You sat outside, wrapped up in a warm, fuzzy blanket. You made yourself a mug of herbal tea, which warmed your hands. It sent a pleasant chill through your body whenever you took a sip, like the heat ran alongside your blood for a moment. 

For the most part, you kept your eyes closed. The Sun was starting to come up, so the light seeped into your skin. Between that and the chirping birds, nature was putting you into a trance.

The window opened behind you. 

“What are you doing?” Spencer asked. 

“You don’t have a porch, so I have to sit on the fire escape,” you replied. 

“That didn’t answer my question in the slightest.”

You grinned. “I’m just… thinking. I couldn’t sleep, so I figured meditating would be a good substitute.”

“Hm,” he said. “May I join you?”

You scooted over and patted the metal frame. 

Spencer fumbled a bit, considering his height, but eventually, he sat cross-legged beside you. 

“Why didn’t you leave me?” Spencer asked quietly. 

“Don’t talk like that,” you scolded.

“It’s a genuine question,” he pushed. “I’ve been a nightmare these past two weeks. What made you want to stay?”

“I realized that love isn’t always beautiful,” you said. “It can be ugly, and messy, and at times, a complete shitshow. But it never stops being love. And if there’s one thing you taught me, it’s that you shouldn’t run from it. I love you, shitshow and all. That’s why I stayed.”

He smiled, then frowned. “Why not… do something? I deserved an ultimatum, at least.”

“You’re not supposed to give addicts an ultimatum unless you’ll stand by it,” you responded. “I could have told you I’d leave if didn’t get help, but I wouldn’t have meant it.” 

“Where’d you learn that, the internet?” Spencer joked. 

You smiled briefly — he noticed all the research you’ve been doing. Still, you shook your head.

“Not the internet: family counselling,” you replied.

“...We haven’t gone yet.”

“Not with you,” you said. “...With my mom and dad.” 

He didn’t say anything, waiting patiently for your explanation. 

“My dad was an alcoholic,” you admitted. “He relapsed twice after I was born — once when I was 9, then again when I was 16. The second time around, it killed him.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Honestly? I was embarrassed,” you said, then laughed at yourself. “It’s so stupid, isn’t it? My dad died, and I’m embarrassed.”

“Why are you embarrassed?” Spencer prompted softly.

Your lip began to tremble. You clenched your jaw in an attempt to combat this. 

“I was horrible to him after he relapsed,” you said quietly. “The first time, I didn’t understand what was happening. The second time, though, I made him feel like shit for what happened. It wasn’t his fault — I know that now. But god, I was such a bitch. I put him through hell — said that his drinking problem was the reason I wasn’t happy. I made his addiction all about me.”

You wiped your eyes as a few tears fell.

“One night after therapy, we got into a fight. I ended up slamming my door in his face and locking it so he couldn’t get in. I said if he was going to choose alcohol over his own daughter, he might as well just drink himself to death. 2 weeks later, he did just that.”

Spencer inched closer. “You were a teenager. I’m sure he knew you didn’t mean it.”

You nodded, but your face contorted. “I never got to apologize,” you said brokenly. “I was too stubborn to make up with him.” 

Spencer wrapped his arms around you. You leaned against his chest, taking in a shaky breath.

The two of you didn’t speak for awhile. The horizon changed colors, from a dark red to a pale pink to bright orange. 

“Do you ever miss when we first met?” Spencer eventually asked.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean back when we took that road trip to Vegas,” he explained. “Back when we knew nothing about each other, but we knew we liked to be around each other.”

“I miss parts of it,” you admitted. “It was simpler back then, prettier. The only thing I worried about was if you’d think I looked good in a certain dress. But, like I said, love isn’t always pretty. We liked each other, but we didn’t love each other. I’d take love over lust any day.”

“Me too.” 

You sat up straight, looking him in the eye. “Spencer, I’m here, and I’m not leaving. So that means you can’t leave either, okay? At least, not like my dad did. Not like that.”

He shook his head. “I won’t. I promise, I won’t.” 

You leaned in, planting a gentle kiss on his lips. 

Spencer pulled away, reaching into his pocket and pulling out something that looked all too familiar.

“Marry me,” he whispered, offering you the golden ring he gifted you what felt like centuries ago. 

You smiled, offering him your hand. “Someday.”

  
_____________________

“Okay, seriously, what is going on between you two?” 

Yours and Spencer’s laughs abruptly stopped. You looked at Penelope.

“What?” you asked, pretending to be oblivious.

“Don’t play dumb with me, Y/N,” Penelope scolded, waving a finger. “The two of you carpool to work everyday, and you bug each other all the time. Whenever you’re on a case, the two of you always end up working with each other. There’s all kinds of weird mojo in the air.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Garcia,” Spencer said, agreeing with you.

“Can’t two people of the opposite sex be best friends?” you asked.

“JJ and Spencer are best friends!” Penelope said, frustrated. “You two have… tension. Derek may call me crazy, but I know tension when I feel it. And believe me, I feel it.” 

Of course Penelope had to confront you in the bullpen, which meant everyone, even Hotch and Rossi, was staring. 

“We live close to each other, so carpooling saves gas,” you said.

“Y/N likes to test my intelligence, so she asks me questions when we’re working,” Spencer said.

“We always work together because we work _well_ together,” you said, then chuckled. “Serious, Penn, you’re reading too much into this.”

“I most certainly am not!” She defended, planting her feet in place. For the life of her, she wasn’t backing down.

Suddenly, there was a glint in her eye. She crossed her eyes and smirked. “Okay, Mr. and Mrs. Smartypants— you’re just friends? Explain why you were both gone for two weeks.” 

You and Spencer shared a look. 

“I had pneumonia,” Spencer replied.

“Family emergency,” you lied. “I had to fly back to Colorado for a little bit. Don’t worry — everything is fine.” 

You tried to walk to your desk.

“Y/N?” you heard Spencer ask from behind you.

You turned around. “Yeah?”

“Quick question: Will you marry me?”

You grinned, taking his hand and kissing his cheek. “Someday.”

Everyone was silent. Emily’s jaw dropped, JJ smiled. Derek concealed a laugh, Hotch hid a smile. Rossi raised his eyebrows, and for a long time, Penelope just stood there, dumbfounded.

“I KNEW IT!” She eventually shrieked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments + kudos = quicker updates! ;)
> 
> Until next time... xx


	14. Girl — Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (see end notes for Trigger Warnings)
> 
> I could cry right now. I really don't want to let these characters go 😭 (Queue the long and sappy 'thank you' — I warned you last chapter).
> 
> When I first posted this work, I thought it was going to be a single installment. I thought I would get 10, maybe 15 kudos and 3 comments, tops. What I got, however, was the most enthusiastic and supportive audience I've ever had. This work is [literally the length of a novel,](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Word_count#In_fiction) and it only took me less than three months to write all of it. This chapter is over 7,000 words long, and it took me two days to write it. Want to know my secret? It's you guys. Seriously. 
> 
> I have a busy life, between my job and school, but after reading the amazing and insightful comments you, the readers, left, it always kept me inspired. Even during some crazy weeks, I managed to put out a new chapter. If no one showed interest, I never would have kept writing. As we speak, I have a 'WIP' that I haven't touched for 7 months. Why? no one tells me they want to keep reading. COMMENTING WORKS. This story is living proof.
> 
> When I say I couldn't have asked for a better audience, I genuinely, truly mean that. Many of you have thanked me for writing this story, but in reality, I can't thank YOU enough. Stolen Dance is the most fun I've had writing in a year, and it's the most fun I've had writing fanfiction _ever_ (and believe me, I've been doing this for awhile).
> 
> Thank you.
> 
> Thank you, Thank you, Thank you.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed Stolen Dance <3
> 
> [x](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qp4uAN2NAjs)

Your stomach was in knots. Your feet hurt. The shoes you were wearing fit, but you weren’t used to the extra height they provided. You’d spent the last few weeks eyeing a pair of wedges online, and after encouragement from Spencer, you finally bought them. After all, it was a special occasion — you were graduating. 

You were only an undergraduate, and it didn’t feel like you accomplished much in your 4 years. Still, the team was overly excited and insisted that you went to the ceremony, Spencer included. Really, you couldn’t wait to silently pursue your master's degree , but what the hell? You skipped your high school graduation ceremony, and this time around, more than your grief-stricken mother would be in the audience cheering you on. You deserved to bask in you success for a change.

Your class was decently sized, so it took some time before your name was called. When it was, however, you immediately heard loud clapping and cheering, despite the request to save applause for the end. 

“Woo, Y/N!” Derek whooped, pumping his fist in the air. 

“We’re so proud!” Penelope, who was standing beside him, shouted.

You smiled, face slightly flushing with embarrassment. You looked up to see everyone — even Hotch — at least clapping. Spencer had the widest smile on his face.

“I love you!” he shouted, cupping his hands around his mouth to project the sound. He earned a couple of laughs from the audience. 

You accepted the diploma from the school’s president, shaking his hand and thanking him. You then walked off the stage to sit back down. 

Your moment in the spotlight was over, but the warmth in your heart didn’t fade.

“You were amazing!” Penelope said, as if you had just put on a performance. She was hugging you so tight it was almost hard to hear her. “And you look incredible!”

“You clean up nice, kid,” Derek agreed when Penelope pulled away. It was his turn to hug you. “I’m proud of you, Y/N,” He whispered in your ear. “We all are.”

You smiled, taking in the comfort of his scent and touch. Derek Morgan truly was the brother you never had. 

“You’re one step closer to becoming a profiler,” Emily joked, hugging you in congratulations. 

“Maybe Strauss will finally hire you as one,” JJ continued when it was her turn. 

“Congratulations,” Hotch said, offering you his hand. With a smile, you pushed it down and pulled him into a hug instead. It was brief and courteous, but it was a hug nonetheless. When you pulled away, he was smiling as well.

“_Buon lavoro!_” Rossi praised, kissing your cheek. 

“Sorry to interrupt, but I believe that’s my job,” Spencer said. 

Your smile somehow widened as Spencer scooped you into his arms. He lifted you up, making you giggle with glee as you kicked the air. He spun you around before setting you back down. 

“Marry me,” he whispered, setting his forehead against yours.

Your fingers traced his cheekbone. “Someday,” you promised, before kissing him. 

“Ugh, get a room,” Derek joked.

You pulled away, throwing your graduation cap at him.

  
_____________________

To everyone’s surprise, Strauss actually _did_ hire you as a profiler for the BAU after you graduated. She witnessed a case you worked, and decided that as long as you continued to pursue your master’s, you could work as a profiler in the meantime. 

“Are you excited?” Spencer asked while the two of you did dishes. “Nervous?”

After filling out the paperwork and other formalities, Hotch informed you that the next case the BAU was assigned, you’d be working it as a profiler rather than as medical personnel. 

You smiled faintly as you dried a plate. “Excited, mostly. A little nervous.”

“Just keep doing what you’ve already been doing,” Spencer assured. “You’ll do great.” 

You set down the plate, lightly flicking Spencer with one end of the towel. Without hesitation, he dipped his fingers in the water and threw some water on your face. 

“Oh, it’s on,” you declared. You scooped up a handful of bubbles and swept it across his face. 

Spencer’s eyes widened and his mouth dropped open. You laughed, tilting your head back. 

“You think that’s funny, huh?” he asked. 

The tone in his voice should have made you run. However, he managed to grab you before you could. 

Spencer held one arm across your back, using the other to tickle underneath your ribcage. You began to laugh hysterically, but for a different reason. 

“No, no, that is so unfair!” you said between gasps.

“You want me to stop?” Spencer asked, eyebrow raised.

You nodded, tears of laughter streaming down your face.

“Say you’re sorry.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” you said between fits. 

“Aww…” he said, stopping momentarily. “Not good enough!” 

He continued to tickle you, switching sides so it was more effective. You curled into him as you laughed, finding both ease and discomfort in the situation. You hated being tickled, but hearing him laugh along with you was music to your ears. 

Eventually, Spencer of course stopped, and you were left against his chest, arms wrapped around him. 

“Marry me,” he said, all traces of laughter leaving his voice. 

You pulled away slightly to look up at him. “Someday.”

He grinned, leaning down to kiss you.

  
_____________________

A little over a year into pursuing your Masters, your life seemed to be perfect. Your job was going better than ever, Grad school was easier than you thought it would be, and you and Spencer were house hunting for something close to Quantico. You were also recently granted an internship at a Rehabilitation Center for adolescents, which in a weird way, was a dream come true. You were studying both child psychology and counselling, so the internship was a perfect fit for both.

Your recent case was in Chicago, where a killing spree seemed to be taking place. Considering the population and the crime rate, it didn’t seem that surprising. The more the details unfolded, however, the weirder and sadder it got. 

The first UnSub was a teenager: red flag #1. The police identified him as 16-year-old Gavin Rossler, who had gone missing for 4 years before the attack. Gavin entered a diner and killed 3 people. The only survivors were a 7-year-old girl, her mother, and the off-duty cop who shot and killed him. 

Red flag #2: The gun used was military-issued. If he was in a gang, it was highly unlikely Rossler would have ended up with that kind of gun.

“I pulled this security footage from a local business across the street from the diner,” Garcia said through a phone line. “I managed to pull partial plates from the car — I’m running them now.” 

You, Derek, and Spencer were all in a conference room local PD reserved. Derek was standing, like he usually did, while you and Spencer sat down. The three of you watched as Gavin was dropped off by and additional UnSub, who drove off and never returned. 

You frowned. “Garcia, can you rewind to when Gavin steps out of the car?”

The footage played backwards, starting normally when Gavin reappeared on screen. 

“What do you see, Y/N?” Derek asked.

“The guy drives off right after Gavin gets out,” you said. “Literally, his foot hardly foots the ground before the driver leaves.”

“He didn’t stick around to see Gavin enter the diner,” Spencer agreed.

“Maybe he sensed something was up,” Derek said. 

“But why wouldn’t he wait to see if something went wrong? How would he know if the mission had to be aborted?” you countered.

“There’s no way he could have known,” Spencer said. “Gavin didn’t have a cellphone on him.”

“It was a suicide mission,” Derek concluded.

You nodded. “I’ll go tell Hotch.”

You stood up, and apparently, you stood up too quickly. Your vision darkened around the edges, and your head began to spin. You had to grab the table for support. 

“Y/N?” Spencer asked, concerned. He was immediately by your side. “Are you okay? What’s going on?” 

“I’m fine,” you said, brushing him off. “I think I stood up too fast. I’m okay.”  
You tried to take a step.

Everything went black.

  
_____________________

When you slowly woke up, you immediately knew where you were. You felt plastic tickle in your nose, cheap sheets beneath your hands, and the smell of antiseptic overwhelmed your senses. 

“Y/N?” Spencer asked gently. He ran his hand through your hair. 

You frowned, slowly opening your eyes. “What happened?” 

“Oh good,” Someone from the doorway said, “you’re up.” 

You looked over to see a woman in a white coat and scrubs. She entered the room, taking a seat on the rolling stool. She held a digital clipboard, looking it over as she rolled beside you. “I’m Doctor Sage. How are you feeling?”

“Tired,” you said. “Sore.”

“Understandable,” she nodded. “We ran a few tests, and we diagnosed you with iron-deficiency Anemia.” 

Spencer breathed a sigh of relief. You couldn’t imagine all of the scenarios he was coming up with while you slept. 

“Have you felt more tired recently?” Sage asked. 

“I thought it was because of my life,” you said. “Between school and work, I’m just so busy. I thought I wasn’t getting enough sleep.” you paused. “What caused it, anyway?”

“Passing out isn’t uncommon when a person is anemic,” she began to explain, “but very rarely do people stay asleep for as long as you did. Because I obviously couldn’t ask you anything, I consulted with other doctors. When I asked Dr. Reid if I could run some tests, he agreed.”

“What tests did you run?” You asked. Her buildup was starting to make you nervous.

Sage looked to Spencer, than you. “If you’d like, we can discuss the results alone.”

“He can stay.” you said, turning your hand over. Spencer took it without question. “What tests?”

“Blood pressure, CBC, the usual,” Sage answered. “I also put in for a quantitative hCG blood test.”

“hCG?” You repeated.

“But that’s to test for…” Spencer said, only to trail off.

“Pregnancy,” the doctor finished. “It would explain the lower iron levels and why your body took so long to recover.”

“You’re killing me here, Doc.”

She smiled. “Congratulations: you’re pregnant. By your hCG levels, I’d estimate you’re about 6 weeks along.”

You turned your head to Spencer, who simply stared at Doctor Sage, completely speechless. You set a hand on your stomach before looking back to the doctor. 

“Is the baby okay?” 

“Nothing on the ultrasound would suggest otherwise,” She assured. “Of course, you should follow up with an OB/GYN to make sure. With rest and medication, the anemia shouldn’t affect you or the baby.” 

You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. “Thank you, Doctor.”

She nodded. “I’ll leave you two alone. Let me know if you need anything.”

When you heard the door close, you looked at Spencer again. He was still staring straight ahead, completely expressionless. 

“Spencer?” you asked gently. “What are you thinking?”

He turned his head to you, which is when you noticed the tears in his eyes. “I’m gonna be a dad,” he whispered. “We’re going to be parents.” 

You laughed breathlessly. “...Yeah, I guess we are.” 

He pulled you into a bone-breaking hug.

You ended up taking an early flight home from Chicago. You and Spencer both decided it was the smartest and most responsible choice — what you wanted couldn’t trump what was best. And what was best in this situation was to go home, find an OB, and rest up. The rest would figure itself out later.

A few days later, when Spencer returned home, he immediately said he wanted you to resign from the BAU. You already had the internship to focus on, which by some miracle, was paid. It was part-time, which meant you could stay at home and put your body on a regular schedule. It would be less stress on both you and the baby. 

Something in your gut told you that, for whatever reason, that couldn’t happen. 

“I’m pregnant, not dying,” you told Spencer. 

“This isn’t just about you,” Spencer said. “You have someone else to worry about now, too.”

“That’s why I can’t just quit, Spencer!” You said. “If you go on cases and leave me behind, I’ll spend the whole time worrying. Will that be good for the baby? What about the fact that I’ll go stir-crazy? You know I’m a workaholic — I function best when I’m busy.”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Okay, how about this: what if you work part-time at the BAU, and part-time at the center? You can come along on cases — for the first 2 trimesters, at least — and I’ll pick up whatever paperwork you’re assigned. That way, you’re working 40 hours instead of 60 or more.”

You considered it. “You think Hotch would go for it?”

“Hotch would find a way to put you on maternity leave for a year if you asked him.”

You smiled. “Good point.”

Spencer opened his arms. “Come here.” 

You smiled, wrapping your arms around his waist. You pressed your cheek against the center of his chest. 

He kissed the top of your head. “Marry me.” 

You pulled him closer. “Someday.”

  
_____________________

You of course had to tell Hotch, but you and Spencer decided to wait on telling the rest of the team. As much as you wanted them to know, the two of you were still trying to wrap your own heads around it. You’d tell them once things settled down. For now, all they knew was that you wanted to focus on getting your Master’s and completing your internship.

About 3 months into your pregnancy, the BAU ended up working a case in Las Vegas. Women were turning up dead in the desert, but their COD was drowning. Eventually, the team determined the UnSub was motivated by stealing, and most likely worked with an underground crime network of some kind. You ended up finding him and a bunch of other homeless people living in the channels beneath the city. 

As you packed up your things in the office, Spencer did the same. He picked up his phone from the table, clipping it into the belt holster he wore next to the one for his gun. Against his own will, you bought Spencer a smartphone a few months ago. You needed to be sure you could always get a hold of him, and now, you could finally text him. Plus, he had a place for photos of you and him, and he downloaded several pregnancy apps, including trackers. He always made sure to update you when the baby changed sizes. Last you were informed, the baby was the size of a plum, and had fully developed organs. 

You watched as he furrowed his eyebrows, returning his items exactly where they belonged in his bag. Once he found a method that worked, he stuck with it. Spencer wasn’t necessarily an obsessive-compulsive person, but he definitely preferred when things were a certain way. 

He slid his favorite pen — one covered in blue anchor designs — into the pocket of his jacket. You found a ‘sea-themed’ pack at the store one time, and you gifted it to him in passing. You hadn’t seen him use other pens since. In fact, you were pretty sure he bought ink refills just so he could keep using them. 

His phone lit up with a new notification. You saw his lockscreen background; it was from the fall festival the two of you attended after you first moved to Virginia. You were wearing sunglasses, and your unwashed hair was pulled back from your face. Spencer towered over you, like he normally did, but his hand still rested on your ribcage. He was squinting in the sunlight, but he had a massive smile on his face. The passerby you asked to take the photo had no idea it would become one of your favorites. 

“Marry me,” you said softly from across the room.

Spencer looked up. “What?”

“Marry me,” you repeated. 

“That’s my line,” he joked.

“I’m serious, Spence,” you said. “Let’s do it, right now.” 

“Are you sure?” He asked. “I mean, we haven’t prepared… at all. We don’t have a license, your mother’s in Colorado, we don’t have a venue…”

“My mom is a plane ride away, yours is downtown. There’s a million chapels we could get married at, and we can get the license when we’re at home. The whole team’s here, and besides our moms, they’re the only people I want to be there. We already bought a house together...” you set a hand on your stomach. There was a small bump, which was easily hidden by clothing. “...we’re going to have a baby together. I think it’s time.” 

Spencer studied you for a moment. Then, he smiled. 

“Let’s get married.”

Hotch managed to delay the jet ride to the next morning. Both your mother and Penelope managed to catch an overnight flight, and by 4 in the morning, both of them were in Vegas. You were glad your mom already knew you were pregnant, because otherwise, you’d have a LOT of explaining to do. Spencer’s aunt and uncle managed to check Diana out for the night, and after a quick trip to a local thrift store, you had a dress. It was blue rather than white, but white wasn’t your style anyways.

By 5 in the morning, You were standing in a 24-hour chapel surrounded by your family, and in front of you stood the man that you loved. You held a cheap bouquet of flowers, and you wore a smile you couldn’t get rid of.

“You may now exchange your vows,” the minister said. 

You took in a breath. “Spencer…” you started, trying to find the right words. “I’ve spent most of my life believing I wasn’t worthy of good things. After a while, I accepted it — I thought ‘okay, if this is how it’s gonna be, than so be it’. But then, I met you. You walked into my life one day, and after everything that’s happened, you haven’t walked out. You’re not just a good thing: you’re the best thing.”

Spencer looked down, using his thumb to wipe the tears from his eyes. “Wow, that was good,” he said. 

Everyone chuckled. 

He cleared his throat. “I’ve always been weird. In a lot of ways, I’ll always be weird. I’m either too smart or too dumb for most people. Not you. No matter what I do or say, it’s like you always understand. When I talk about quantum physics or rant about multiverse theory, you don’t judge me. You don’t tell me you’re not interested. You just… listen. You always listen. You’re the first person in the world to make me feel normal, Y/N, and I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to figure out what I did to deserve someone like you.” 

Penelope, who stood beside you, cried freely. You looked over to see even Derek quickly wipe his eyes. 

“The rings, please,” The minister said with a smile. 

You turned to Garcia, who held Spencer’s band, and Spencer turned to Derek, who held yours. Spencer has kept them on him ever since he gave you the ‘someday’ ring. ‘You never know’, he said simply when you asked him why. He really was the smartest man in the world. 

Garcia, with tear tracks down her face, put the ring in the palm of your hand. “I love you,” she whispered. You smiled, fighting off tears of your own. 

“I love you too,” you whispered back.

Spencer put your ring on first, then you, his. 

“By the power vested in me, and as witnessed by family and friends, I pronounce you husband and wife,” the minister announced. “You may kiss the bride.” 

Setting one hand on your waist and the other on your cheek, Spencer pulled you in for the first kiss you shared as a married couple. Everyone cheered, their applause and excitement loud enough to echo in the small chapel. When he pulled away, Spencer took your hand and raised it in the air.

  
_____________________

“Your mom and dad are just in there, see?” you said, opening the blinds. 

It was a strange case — the team was called to an Amber alert in New Jersey, and not even 12 hours later, the boy was found dead. Originally, the UnSub was profiled to be a serial killer that had taken and disposed of two other boys around the same age in the same area. However, as the case unfolded, the less sense everything made. Kyle, the most recent victim, didn’t match most of the UnSub’s MO. After the lead detective on the case confessed to killing Kyle, Hotch pulled the parents into a different room to interrogate them. You were left with Danny, their other son.

Danny nodded. 

You smiled, taking a seat across from him. 

“Can I have a snack?” He asked.

“Yeah, sure,” you said, standing back up. You approached the cupboards, opening each one until you found one with snacks. You took out a small bag of chips and grabbed a soda out of the fridge, setting them in front of Danny. 

“Are there any games here?” Danny asked.

You shook your head. “I don’t think so, no.” 

“Can I watch some cartoons?”

You grabbed the remote. “Let’s see if we can find some.” 

You turned on the TV and began flipping through the channels. You eventually stumbled on a news channel, which was airing the press conference held outside of the Murphy’s house. Dan Murphy cradled Sarah, his wife, as both of them cried. Danny stood off to the side. He was crying as well, but something seemed… off. Rather than hiding his face or looking down, like most kids, Danny looked back to his parents. However, he made no effort to reach out to them. 

There was banging on the table next to you. You jumped, looking down to see Danny pounding the bag of chips in an attempt to get it open.

“Hey! Hey, Hey, stop, stop,” you said, grabbing the bag. “I can open it for you.” 

You opened the bag and set it on the table in front of Danny. You then sat across from him again. 

“Do you get angry like that a lot?” you asked.

“My mom says I have a bad temper,” Danny answered.

You nodded, then paused. “Did you and Kyle ever play together?” 

“Only when I had to,” he said. “He was always breaking my stuff. I’m not gonna miss that.” He paused to think. “He would always sleep in my room.”

“I heard Kyle liked your bunk beds,” you replied.

“They weren’t for him,” he said flatly, “they were for my friends. He was always wetting the bed, like a baby.”

“Is why you didn’t want to play with him?” You asked. “I mean, he was kind of a baby.”

“But he thought he was big enough to play with me,” Danny snapped. “Like today, he broke my model plane. It took me all week to make it.” 

“Today,” you repeated. Kyle was alive earlier, and from the sounds of it, Danny was the last person he spoke to. “How did that happen?”

“I woke up early so I could finish it,” Danny started. “Kyle came downstairs, said Mom and Dad weren’t awake yet. He asked if he could play with the plane, I said he could look at it. I turn my back for one second, and he broke the entire thing.”

Danny ate a chip. 

“He broke it. He deserved it.” 

You texted JJ, who eventually came in to sit with Danny. You excused yourself from the room, wandering the halls until you found the bathroom. Once you did, you locked the door behind you and vomited into the toilet. It wasn’t because of morning sickness.

“They did everything right.” 

Spencer took a seat beside you. You told Hotch you were going to step out for a minute to get some air. He glanced at you with worry, but said to come back in when you were ready. Ten minutes later, you were still sitting on the bench in nearly freezing weather. You were bundled up in your jacket, yet Spencer came out with a coat he found. 

“Who did?” He asked, draping the insulated coat around your shoulders. 

“The Murphy’s,” you said, running a hand over your head. “They gave him food, shelter, love… it wasn’t enough. A boy with a nearly perfect life still ended up a killer.”

“The cause of antisocial personality disorder is unknown,” Spencer explained softly. “Like most areas of sociology, it’s speculated both nature and nurture have an influence. It’s possible, like in Danny’s case, that nature wins.” 

“Spencer, what if our kid ends up a sociopath?” You asked quietly. “What if we do everything right, but they still end up killing someone?”

“They’d have to be born as one, because this child will have a good life,” Spencer assured, setting a hand on your stomach. “And even if they were born as one, we’d see the signs. Many parents, like the Murphys, are either unable to see the signs, or they ignore them. We both study psychology. We’d see the signs, and we’d do everything we could to stop anything from happening.” 

You smiled faintly, setting a hand over his. “You’re right,” you agreed quietly. “I’m being hormonal and stupid.” 

“You’re being a concerned mother,” he corrected, kissing your cheek.

  
_____________________

5 months — about halfway through the second trimester. Most of your symptoms, like morning sickness and the occasional dizzy spell from the anemia, had worn off. When you stomach was exposed, there was a prominent curve, but for the most part, you were still able to hide it with clothing. If anyone asked, you’d simply say you had put on a little weight, and no one would think otherwise. 

Spencer loved talking to your bump. Every night, he read the baby a story of some kind — sometimes, he’d recall a chapter of _Harry Potter_ or recap a Doctor Who episode. Other times, he’d talking about you, himself, or how the two of you met. With his hand on your stomach and head on your chest, you’d run your fingers through his hair, and for once, you knew what bliss felt like.

You weren’t supposed to be there; he didn’t want you there. In fact, the two of you argued at the police station whether or not you should be on the field.

“As long as I can still fly, I’m working on the field,” you said, flipping through some paperwork.

“It’s not safe, Y/N, for you or the baby,” Spencer argued.

“If it’s not safe, then you shouldn’t be out there either!” You retorted. “I’ll be wearing a vest, just like everyone else.”

Spencer clenched his jaw and averted his gaze. He didn’t want to keep arguing with you, but he was clearly less than thrilled at the idea.

You stood up, setting a hand on his cheek when you closed the gap between the two of you.

“I’ll be fine, Spence,” you said softly. You picked up one of his hands and set it on your stomach. “We’ll both be fine.”

He couldn’t fight back the smile that made its way onto his face. Spencer kissed your temple, then set his forehead against yours. He didn’t move his hand.

“I’m your badass, ex-soldier wife, remember?” you joked. “I’m practically unkillable.”

“Spence! Spencer, stay with me,” you said, sitting in the back of the ambulance. 

The last time you sat in an ambulance was 4 years ago, when Spencer overdosed. It didn’t seem like much, but it felt like lifetimes away. You thought you had everything to lose back then. You didn’t know that feeling — the one that strangles your lungs and stabs at your stomach — could get worse. Back then, he was the love of your life. Now, he’s the love of your life, your husband, and the father of your child. 

The bullet hit his neck. He was losing blood quickly, too quickly. He was still conscious, but his eyes were cloudy and he couldn’t focus on anything. Derek sat beside you while the other paramedic patched him up.

“It sounded like a tea kettle,” Spencer said, mouth slack open. “Did you hear it?”

You set a hand on his cheek. “You’re gonna be okay, Spence,” you whispered, tears rolling down your face. “Please, hold on,” you said, grabbing his hand. Rather than taking it into your own, you perched it on the top of your bump. “For us.” 

Spencer smiled weakly before closing his eyes.

“Spence? Spencer, come on, open your eyes,” you begged.

“Pressure’s dropping, pulse is thready,” the paramedic said. “Starting a large bore IV.” 

You took his hand, leaning back in the seat. You prayed to whoever was listening that he’d be okay.

  
_____________________

“Anything yet?”

You looked up to see JJ enter the waiting room.

You shook your head, running a hand down your face. 

She took a seat beside you. “Spence would have read 2 books by now, maybe 3.”

“It should have been me,” you said numbly. 

“Or me, or any of us,” JJ agreed.

“No,” you disagreed, looking up. Your eyes were red and sore from crying. “I went to help an officer, and he pushed me out of the way. It should’ve been me.” You took in a shaky breath. “JJ, what if he doesn’t make it?” 

“Hey,” she said softly, taking your hand. “He’s going to make it. He’s fighting for you. No way would he give up.” 

You nodded, biting your lip. You wanted to believe it was that simple. 

A pain shot through your stomach.

With a gasp, you leaned forward, clutching your belly. When the pain subsided, you were panting with anxiety.

“Y/N? Are you okay?” JJ asked, frowning with worry.

“I’m pregnant,” you said breathlessly. Every piece of medical knowledge stored in your brain was replaced by fear. “I’m only 5 months. JJ, what’s happening?” 

After recovering from the initial shock of what you were saying, she sprung into action. “I’m going to go get some help, okay? Just breathe, Y/N. You’ll both be okay.”

“Braxton Hicks, also called false labor, is what caused the pain,” An ER doctor said, wiping the ultrasound jelly off of your stomach. “Nothing on the scan suggests something is wrong with the baby.”

You sighed with relief. You sat up slowly, pulling your shirt back down. 

“It’s normal to have Braxton Hicks at 20 weeks, but they usually aren’t painful,” she continued. “Is there something causing you stress right now?”

“My husband is in surgery after being shot in the neck,” you stated bluntly. 

“That would do it,” she replied. “What’s his name? I’ll go get an update for you.” 

“Spencer Reid. Thank you,” you said. 

She nodded. “I’m sure it’s hard right now, but try to stay calm. He’s in good hands.”

After making sure you were fine, JJ left to help the rest of the team work the case. By then, Garcia has gotten to Texas — apparently, Mateo Cruz, the new Section Chief, knows someone with a plane. As the two of you waited in Spencer’s room, Garcia took some Doctor Who action figures out of her bag. 

“It’ll be so great if he wakes up, and this is the first thing he sees,” Penelope said as she placed the figurines on the tray holder. 

“The good doctor always cheers him up,” you agreed.

You moved your chair so close to the bed, there was hardly any room for your legs. You grasped his hand in yours, gently running your thumb over the back of it. 

You sat in silence for awhile; Garcia managed to find random things to do around the room. Eventually, though, you felt Spencer tighten his fingers around your hand. You looked up to see his eyelids twitch.

You stood up, leaning over the bed as you stroked a gentle hand over his hair. “Spencer?” you coaxed gently. “I’m right here, baby.”

He opened his eyes, squinting in the harsh light. “Hey,” he said weakly.

“Hey,” you said with a tearful laugh. “How are you feeling? Are you in any pain.”

He swallowed. “No pain. Did they…?”

You shook your head. “No narcotics. They said they used a nerve block and Buprenorphine.” 

Spencer smiled. “Good. That’s good. How are you?” 

“I’m okay,” you promised, a few happy tears falling. You quickly wiped them away. “I got an ultrasound an hour ago.”

He tried to sit up, reaching for your stomach. “Did something happen? What happened? Is the baby okay?”

You gently pushed him down. “You need to rest,” you instructed gently. “I had a few Braxton Hicks contractions — the doctor said it was because of stress. We’re both okay.” 

“...‘the baby’?” Penelope repeated from across the room. 

You looked up with a grin. “Yeah, the baby. I’m pregnant.” 

“Oh my god, congrats!” She squealed, rushing over to hug you. “You’re both going to be amazing. ...Am I the first to know?”

She looked at Spencer, who shrugged.

“Sorry, Penn — Derek and JJ found out before you did,” you apologized.

“Why do they always know everything before me?” She whined. “You have to tell me the name first. It’s only fair.” 

“We don’t have a name yet,” Spencer answered. “We don’t know the sex.” 

“Actually…” you corrected. “I do.”

Spencer’s eyes widened. “What are we having?” 

You smiled, leaning down to kiss him. “Congratulations, dad: it’s a girl.” 

Spencer laughed with joy, pressing his palms to your stomach. “Hey, baby girl,” he cooed. “I love you so much.”

  
_____________________

The one time Spencer leaves for the weekend, you go into labor.

In hindsight, it was your fault — you were the one who encouraged him to visit his mother one last time before the baby comes. Once the two of you were officially parents, the two of you would barely have enough energy to work, let alone travel across the country. 

You were full-term, meaning you couldn’t go with him, even if you wanted to. Nonetheless, you practically forced him out the door. You could use a few days to yourself, and the doctor said you should be resting as much as possible anyways. You planned to take a bath, read a book, and sleep for most of the weekend.

The baby had other plans.  
At around 3 in the morning, you woke up with pain in your stomach. It felt similar to the Braxton Hicks that had become more frequent, but this time, it was more intense. Really, you should have expected this; you hit 39 weeks a few days ago. 

You ultimately decided to wait for a few hours, see if it was really labor, or just a few false contractions. By the time 5AM rolled around, they weren’t any more intense, but the contractions were slowly getting closer together. 

You decided to call Spencer. 

“Are you okay?” Was the first thing he said. “What’s going on, Y/N?” 

“Oh shit, it’s like, 2 in the morning there, isn’t it?” You said in realization.

“Are you okay?” Spencer repeated.

“What? Oh, yeah, I’m fine. Well, except that I think I’m going into labor.” 

You heard some shuffling. “I’m on my way,” he said. “Y/N, just hang tight, okay? I’ll be home soon.”

“Take your time,” you assured. “I might not have her until tomorrow.” 

“How are you so calm?” Spencer said, already sounding frantic.

“Honestly? I’m just excited. I’m scared, but I’m excited. I can’t wait to meet her.” 

You could practically hear his smile through the line. “Me too. I love you.”

You called the midwife next, as you and Spencer planned a homebirth. You hated hospitals, and how countless people swarmed in and out while someone was exposed. The birth of a child is one of the best things a person can experience, so something about the hospital seemed so… impersonal. Besides, if something went wrong, it was only an ambulance ride away.

“I’ll be there as soon as I can,” Dana, your midwife, said. “This storm is going to be a nightmare to drive in.”

It was then that you finally looked outside.

The entire backyard was covered in white. There was so much snow blowing around, you could hardly see any of the neighbor’s houses. When you pulled up your weather app, you saw 3 different warnings, which pretty much covered the entire state. 

There’s no way Spencer could find a flight back to DC.

That’s when the panic set in.

  
_____________________

“He’s not gonna make it in time,” you said, clutching your stomach as another contraction hit. “It’s his damn kid, and he won’t even fucking be here.” 

Penelope rubbed your shoulder gently. JJ kneeled in front of you, attempting to calm you down. Derek was probably pacing, because you couldn’t see him.

“He’ll be here,” JJ assured, taking your hands. “Breathe, Y/N. He’ll be here.”

You sucked in a breath, then let it out. So far, you weren’t in too much pain, but your heart throbbed with anxiety.

“He’s Spencer Reid,” Garcia reminded gently. “He’ll find a way.”

3 hours later, your contractions were starting to get closer together and were becoming more intense. Your midwife called 5 times, saying that she was on her way but traffic on the highway was backed up for miles. On any normal day, she was 20 minutes away, tops. 

Eventually, you got tired of sitting and decided to walk around. Derek was really the only one physically strong enough to help you, so the burden fell on him. Sometimes, just hugging him felt awkward. Today, you rested your arms on his shoulders and pressed your forehead against his chest. After some hesitation, Derek rested his hands on your waist, making sure you were steady. 

You groaned as a contraction hit. You grabbed fistfuls of Derek’s shirt, trying to steady your breaths as the pain increased, then decreased. 

“You’re doing good,” Derek encouraged. “Well, I think you are. I’ve never done this before.”

You managed to chuckle. “Me either.”

Two more hours passed, and your labor was progressing quickly. You contractions were less than 4 minutes apart, and if anyone knew how to check your dilation, you’d probably be at at least 8 centimeters. Your water broke 45 minutes ago, and everything seemed to pick up quickly after that. 

The last your midwife called, she said she’d be there soon. That was at least 20 minutes ago. 

“She should start pushing, right?” Penelope asked, eyes wide with terror. She dabbed your forehead with a damp washcloth. 

Derek carried you up the stairs awhile ago so could lay down. Unfortunately, that did nothing to help the pain. When you weren’t in the middle of a contraction, you were at least gritting your teeth.

“Give it 10 minutes,” JJ said. She’s said that twice already. She began biting her nails.

“That’s your tell,” you said, then laughed weakly. 

“What?” JJ asked.

“You bite your nails when you’re nervous,” you pointed out.

JJ set her hand down and pursed her lips.

“I’m not delivering your baby, man,” Derek said into his phone. “Get your ass over here, now.” 

“Voicemail?” you asked once he hung up.

The look on his face said enough. 

You heard the front door open, and for a moment, you got your hopes up.

“I texted Emily,” JJ explained. “That’s her.” 

Penelope frowned. “Why Emily?”

“She’s good in a crisis,” JJ said. “...Not that this is a crisis. You’re doing amazing, Y/N.”

You laughed. “JJ, my knight in shining armor.” 

“Guys?” you heard Prentiss call.

“Up here!” JJ shouted back.

A few minutes later, she was in the doorway.

“Holy shit,” she muttered. “We should call an ambulance.”

You shook your head, sitting up slightly. “Don’t need one.”

“What?” Everyone said simultaneously. 

“I’m too far along — the only thing they’ll do is supervise,” you explained through heavy breaths. “Besides, who knows how long it’ll take for them to get here.” 

“What should we do, then?” Emily asked.

You took in a breath. “Derek, go get some clean towels and blankets. JJ, go into the bathroom: I have a medi bag under the sink. Penelope, hold my hand.” 

Penelope took your hand, which you gripped, hard. 

“Emily,” you said, meeting eyes with the dark-haired woman. “You ready to deliver a baby?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be.”

Less than ten minutes later, the bed was fully prepped. You had a towel underneath your bottom, and your legs were covered with a blanket. Derek sat up by your head, refusing to catch even a glimpse of something. JJ ended up taking Penelope’s place, as she had a similar reaction to Derek. Meanwhile, Emily sat between your legs, awaiting instruction. 

“Got gloves on?” you asked. 

She nodded.

“Well, here comes the fun part — stick ‘em inside and tell me what you feel.” 

Emily winced at your wording but did as she was told. She set a hand on your knee, using the other to see how dilated you were.

“I… I don’t feel anything,” She said. “Oh, wait! I feel something hard.” 

“That’s the head,” you said. “I’m gonna push on the next contraction.”

“Okay…” Emily said hesitantly. “What should I do?”

“Tell me if anything looks weird, like if there’s a lot of blood,” you instructed. “Derek and JJ — help me hold my knees back?”

They both did as they were told, wrapping one hand under your leg while they offered the other for you to grab. 

When the next contraction hit, you screamed before tucking your chin to your chest and bearing down. It hurt more than you could ever have imagined. 

When it passed, you fell back, already exhausted.

“I’m here!” Spencer called from downstairs. “I’m here!”

The rest of it flew by.

Spencer sat on the bed behind you so you could use him as a backboard. He whispered words of encouragement in your ear, even when he began crying. Between your own screams and the blood pulsing through your head, you could hardly hear anything.

“I… I think this is it!” Emily said. “The head’s fully out!”

You pushed one last time. You went from feeling everything to nothing in a single second. 

Emily wrapped the baby up in a blanket, who after a moment, began crying. You let out a sob of your own, both from exhaustion and relief. Emily cleaned her up a bit before setting her on your chest.

“How did you make it in time?” you asked, laying in bed.

The midwife had already come and gone. She helped you deliver the placenta and gave you a check-up. Once you and the baby were given a clean bill of health, she and the rest of the team said goodbye and left for the night.

“I found a flight that landed in North Carolina,” Spencer explained softly, as to not disturb the baby. She was laying between the two of you, occasionally cooing, but otherwise, silent. “I called Hotch, and he sent a squad car to the airport. They gave me a ride home, sirens and all.” 

You smiled. Hotch really did have a soft spot for this team.

“What do you think of Emmerson?” He asked.

“As a baby name?”

He nodded, smiling down at her. “We haven’t come up with anything yet. It means ‘brave’ and ‘powerful’. We could call her ‘Emery’ for short.” 

“‘Emery’?” you repeated. “Sounds a lot like ‘Emily’.”

Spencer grinned. “I guess it does.”

You smiled back, inching your face closer to your baby. She looked so peaceful, like she was wrapped in a cocoon of warmth and safety. It made your heart swell.

“Welcome to the world, Emmerson Diana Reid,” you whispered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING(S): Pregnancy, childbirth (nothing too graphic). 
> 
> There is a sequel coming! I don't know when or how long it will be, but I have an idea I'm excited to flesh out.
> 
> As always, let me know what you thought!!! <3
> 
> Until next time... xx


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